


Catechism

by manic_intent



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel!Au, Avenging Angels, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Wingfic, wingkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by fanart seen on tumblr, this is an End of Days story, with all the Avengers as Archangels.  Tony had always known that he was a special snowflake.  He just hadn't realized exactly how special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mandarin Translation: http://www.hailstony.com/thread-3501-1-1.html
> 
> \--
> 
> About this fic, I first thought about it when I saw some amazing fanart by [brilchrist](http://brilcrist.deviantart.com/art/Avengers-avenging-angels-concept-320593875). Check it out! :)
> 
> Originally this fic was written in Angel names, but it was too confusing.

I.

Tony had always known that he was a special snowflake.

He just didn't realize exactly _how_ special, not until the Incident that Shall Not be Named happened in Afghanistan, where life saw fit to endow him with Stark-designed shrapnel through his chest in a grand gesture of unsubtle irony. Somehow he'd managed to cobble together a weaponised armour of sorts using the equipment in the cave that the terrorists had acquired, because Tony Stark was going to rescue himself, thank you very fucking much US Army, and it had all been going fairly well until Yinsen had abruptly gotten infected with self-sacrifice, and then... then Tony only remembered being consumingly, blindingly _angry_ -

He'd woken up in some sort of infirmary that looked a sight better than the cave, not that _that_ was saying very much at all, if Tony had to be honest. But someone had at least bothered to clean him up and put him in a sterile hospital gown, and there was even a glass of water to the side. Tony had the mother of all headaches pounding in his skull, and as he groaned and tried to sit up, only managing to roll over, trying to reach the water, the machine he was hooked up to started beeping in alarm. 

Tony glared at it, trying to will it to switch off, and just as he managed to prop himself up awkwardly against the headboard of the cot, the steel sliding doors slipped open, and a tall, bald and scowling African-American man strode in, dressed in a black trenchcoat with an _eye patch_ , of all things. Behind him was a blonde man, military if Tony knew anything about it, straight-backed, broad-shouldered, sharply dressed in a suit with a deep green shirt. Blondie was easy on the eyes, at least, although the look that he levelled at Tony - something between exasperation, relief, and a strange sort of warm fondness - was fucking _weird_ , seeing as Tony had never met Blondie before in his life.

Then again, Tony was awesome, and made weapons. He probably had more than a few fans in the military.

"Let me guess," Tony rasped, looking over to the African-American man in the vaguely piratical get-up. "Red pill or the blue pill?"

The African-American man's scowl deepened and seemed to turn long-suffering. "My name is Nicholas Fury. I'm the director of SHIELD, a UN black ops initiative targeted at preserving global security."

"...Okay. Never heard of you," Tony noted warily. Either he was hallucinating, or the terrorists were getting really creative. "Where the hell am I?"

"You're in Manhattan, Mister Stark."

"Uh huh. In that case, give me a phone. I need to make some calls." 

"But before you leave," Fury ignored him, "You're going to have to answer some questions."

" _Look_ -"

"Approximately twenty-eight hours ago," Fury continued evenly, "There was an unusual light flare in a section of the Hindu Kush that was, and I quote witnesses, 'as bright as a new sun', and it went on for nearly half an hour. Surveillance followed the flare to a cave, which had been burned, and just beyond it was you, face-down on the rock, unconscious and unharmed."

"Unharmed?" Tony repeated, surprised, then he belatedly realized that other than the headache, nothing _else_ seemed to hurt. Hurriedly, he pulled up the collar of the blue hospital shift that he was wearing, and glanced down at his chest. 

Unmarked.

What in the world...?

"Your life signs were stable, but despite repeated attempts to revive you, you remained unconscious until a few minutes ago," Fury went on, as though oblivious to Tony's undoubtedly visible astonishment. "How much do you remember?"

"There was..." Tony hesitated, frowning, rubbing his eyes, then he shook himself as years' worth of Pepper's very patient military public relations training belatedly kicked into gear. "I want a phone. And the address of wherever we are. If we're in Manhattan, you can't keep me here."

"Mister Stark, it's in your best interests to cooperate," Fury glowered at him, but Tony had been facing down figures of authority of varying importance since he was twelve, and besides, he'd just spent the last three _months_ in captivity, and what with waking up randomly and magically healed in unknown locations, had just had fucking _enough_ of being trapped.

He was also hungry, and very close to being willing to kill for a cheeseburger. 

"You can book in a meeting with my secretary when I'm out," Tony retorted, with as insincere a smile as he could conjure, and even as Fury bristled, the blonde man began to chuckle.

"Something funny, Michael?" Fury transferred his glower to his companion, who merely shrugged.

"Gabriel has always been contrary. Let him go. You'll get no help from him if you force him."

"He melted _everything_ in that cave, even the bones of the people who'd been in it. I don't-"

Wait, what? Melted?

"Nicholas," Michael interrupted, with a gentle smile, and Fury sighed. 

"Fine. But if there's a miniature solar flare incident in Manhattan if or when our friend here wakes all the way back up, you'd better be fucking on the ball." Fury glanced back over at Tony. "You're free to go, Mister Stark. I'll contact your secretary."

"Great. Civility at last. _Thank_ you. I'll make a suitable donation to UNICEF, or your corrupt UN charity of choice, and maybe we'll call it even."

Fury didn't even bother to acknowledge him further, stalking out of the room, and Michael shook his head wryly. "The Director has not been having a good week."

"You mean he _normally_ doesn't barge into hospital rooms to harangue kidnapping victims?"

"The War has begun, and not all of us have awoken." Michael observed, "And some of those who have - like you - have only done so incompletely. The Director is under quite a great deal of pressure, and he is only human. Unlike us." 

"Okay," Tony said, after an awkward pause, "You're cute and you seem nice, but seriously, either there's something trippy in my IV, or you need an industrial-grade strength coffee."

"I will speak with you again, Gabriel," Michael nodded at him, and left the room; though he looked back just before the doors closed, as though with reluctance, and hell, this was Tony's life of late, when a mind blank from trying to free himself from terrorists was quickly turning out to _not_ be the weirdest thing that happened to him this week.

II.

Banned from further press conferences for now, Tony had been working on the blueprint for Mark II of the Iron Man suit when he glanced up for a moment to stretch his back and started violently when he saw Michael standing beside the Bugatti, running a palm idly over the bumper.

"How the fuck did you get in here?"

"I flew," Michael said, and smiled gently when Tony bristled. Cute as Michael was, especially when he smiled, Tony had not been having a good week, what with his company directors threatening to mutiny, the free-falling share price, and sharp pangs from his newly awakened conscience.

"All right, smart-arse, I appreciate the help I got in that Black Ops get-up, but you're trespassing and..." Tony trailed off, gaping, as Michael rolled his shoulders; _shadows_ seemed to uncoil from his back, stretching out over the cars, further and further back, then the tips of it seemed to solidify and flow backwards, like a photograph turning into focus, almost all the way to his shoulder blades. Wings.

Three sets of gigantic wings.

"Funny," Tony said faintly, when he managed to recover his voice, "I kinda thought that they would be white."

"Not mine," Michael noted dryly, and yea, there was a fucking _halo_ , even, a faint golden glow from out of nowhere, just over his head, as his brown wings with their white bars folded down over his back. Somehow, they all managed to fit without looking too awkward, with the medium top set, the huge middle set, with a span that could probably almost stretch the length of the garage, to the smallest third set, that barely brushed the ground when folded up against Michael. "Neither are yours."

"Okay," Tony pinched at the bridge of his nose, "I really hate to ruin the moment, seeing as this is possibly my first religious experience of some sort, but I'm _not_ an angel. You called me 'Gabriel' the last time. My name's _Tony_. Or Anthony, if you wanted to be precise."

"Your avatar's name," Michael corrected. "But if you prefer to be called Tony, you may call me Steven. That was my vessel's birth name."

"All right, Steve," Tony injected a touch of insolence into his tone, but that only made Michael - or Steven - smile faintly, almost indulgently. "Let's take this again from the top. You, quite possibly, angel. Me, definitely, human. No wings. No halo. Made in America and not in Heaven. Also, a hundred per cent meatbag."

"You awoke briefly in Afghanistan," Steven noted. "Yours was ever the slowest process. You love humanity most, and have always had difficulty letting go of the pieces. But awaken in full you must. The cycle has started to run again. We must find the others before the damage done grows too great."

"The cycle? What cycle?"

"The Revelation," Steven explained earnestly. "The End Days. Lucifer has begun to move."

"...All right..." Tony blinked, "I was expecting more 'swarms of locusts and rivers of blood', not so much stock market crashes and widespread unemployment. Unless the symbolism's been upgraded. In which case, I'm going to be greatly disappointed here." 

"In the later days of the cycle, should it be allowed to run, you will have your symbolism," Steven said quietly. "But you must help me. You and the others." 

"We're getting a bit ahead of ourselves here," Tony gestured at Steven's primly folded wings. "You, angel. Me, human. Need me to repeat that?"

"You are no human," Steven stepped forward, until he was all the way into Tony's personal space, crowding him confidently against the console, and even as Tony sucked in a breath to snap a retort, or maybe knee the presumptuous bastard in the balls, the third tier of Steven's wings curled over, pressing lightly over his ribs and hips, wrapping around him to weave over the small of his back.

All unthinking, Tony reached down to run fingers lightly over the ridge to the covert feathers, and there was a sense of déjà vu, somehow, at the back of his mind, as though his fingers had walked this through before, pressed tips through an impossibility of soft feathers. He looked up, sharply, to find Steven watching him, his cheeks flushed, eyes a little glazed, as though in pleasure.

Tony did _not_ need to know that about angels.

"Little space here?" he grit out tightly, and Steven blinked slowly before stepping back, his wings clipping away and folding back down, drooping a little at the tips, as though in reluctance.

"Sorry," Steven offered, though he didn't sound particularly sincere; the gentle cast to his face had been replaced by that strange, too-familiar look that Tony had last seen in Black Ops Island - exasperation, fondness, and just as before, it was unsettling. "In time, it will come. But meanwhile, you should prepare to defend yourself. Lucifer may have felt your first awakening, as did I."

"What, should I start stockpiling religious icons and crucifixes?" 

"Salt and blessed silver, perhaps-"

"So you're suggesting that I'm about to get attacked by demons?"

"I'm telling you that you will be."

Because this was Tony's life, really. Kidnapper terrorists were evidently _so_ last week. But at least he was taking things well, albeit by mathematical equation. Angels seemingly existed, ergo, demons existed, and if an angel was under the weird impression that Tony was indeed a special snowflake, it didn't discount the possibility that demons were just as stupid. 

Privately, after the headache had passed, Tony wasn't entirely too sure what to think about Steven's conclusion. The incontrovertible fact remained that the huge, permanent shrapnel injury that he had endured for three months was now gone, and all the medical tests he had taken had pronounced him disgustingly healthy. Other than that, he didn't feel any different, and an attempt to squeeze out any solar flare-esque abilities from his hands in the privacy of his lab hadn't worked, nor had any attempt to will giant wings to appear from his back, although Dummy had doused him once with safety foam, possibly in an act of moral support. 

"So there are more of you? How many more of you?" Tony asked, a little curious.

"Of the Archangels - there are six of us in full. I have found you, Uriel and Raziel to date. Ramiel and Ezekiel are still dormant." 

"And then there's Lucifer." At Steven's nod, Tony added, because he had, out of curiosity, thoroughly researched Wiki yesterday, "If he's around, and you're around, why don't the both of you just go have your showdown? From the popular literature, the Archangel Michael always beats the shit out of Lucifer, doesn't he? We can skip all the frills and scorched earth steps."

"Lucifer is imprisoned," Steven elaborated, "The End Days as humanity knows it begins in cycle when the strength of his cage begins to weaken. Three seals have been broken. Ten remain. I cannot stop the cycle by myself. Should Lucifer be freed, I will face him, but the mortal casualties will be catastrophic."

"And then rivers of blood and locusts?" At Steven's wry smile and nod, Tony sighed. "Okay. Fine. If you're really, absolutely sure that I'm what you think I am, how do I trigger it?" 

"Memory," Steven began, then he tilted his head, as though listening to something, frowned, and vanished.

That wasn't useful.

III.

Demons, as it turned out, were assholes, _and_ shapeshifters, and if not for Happy's quick interference when Tony was on his way out of a charity gala, would probably have ruined more than just Tony's Hartmarx suit. Unfortunately, Tony wasn't anywhere near any armoured suits, Happy was now unconscious and bleeding but still alive, and the masses of screaming gala guests did not make for good or sane cover.

By the time Tony made it down a side corridor, heading for the back exit, the demon had shaped into something only dimly human-like that was beginning to have difficulty squeezing through a normal door, and it was totally rocking the spikes-on-spikes-on-scales Alien chic, with shreds of its previous waitress disguise hanging off horns and its leathery black skin. It moved like some sort of demolition derby, smashing into furniture and anyone unlucky to be in its way, roaring and gouging gashes into the marble floor of the hotel with its talons, ignoring the security guards emptying bullets into its flanks. 

Irrationally, Tony wished that he'd thought to get Steven's phone number. Did angels even have phone numbers? Or was the praying bit of the popular propaganda true? 

Skidding around a corner as he sprinted through the library and towards the kitchen, Tony supposed that it wasn't as though he had anything to lose. "Dear Michael, or Steve, or Steven," he grit out, as the demon snarled and barrelled through the library doors, overturning an antique oak table and bounding over a couch, then slamming into the heavier mahogany door that Tony managed to drag shut behind him. "I'm in trouble right now and will appreciate help, amen." 

Nothing. So much for prayer. 

The chefs in the large kitchen looked up sharply as Tony pushed into the room and grabbed the closest weapon-shaped thing he could reach, turning around quickly as, bellowing, the demon hauled itself into the kitchen, baring its large, curved fangs. The chefs scattered, screaming, and Tony took a deep breath. Boiling oil to his right, check. Bread knife in hand, possibly could have been improved, check. He could probably delay the demon or something, get out of the hotel, and... and... and for some reason, deep down, Tony was just fucking tired of running. 

Story of his life to date.

"Yeah, you don't scare me," Tony growled, and this was probably not a rational approach, really, not from someone with Tony's usual level of brain function and/or athletic ability, but something about being chased around a hotel by something right out of the brain of one of the bible kooks demonstrating on the street was tapping into the caveman part of his backbrain. "Come and fucking _get_ it."

Unfortunately, bravado notwithstanding, Tony's reflexes weren't exactly what they used to be, if they ever _were_ good enough for these kinds of situations, and at his first attempt at dodging a charge, the demon pivoted with surprising speed and grabbed him with a fist half the size of Tony's chest, slamming him into one of the steel fridge doors with enough force to dent metal and crack bone. Tony _snarled_ , stabbing down, but the knife might as well be a fucking toothpick for how useful it was, and he could feel the demon's grip tightening, crushing down, and even as Tony started to struggle for breath, spots spreading over his vision, something within him rose _up_ \- he dropped the knife, pressing his palms over the demon's wrist instead, and spoke _something_ in a tongue that wasn't meant for a human throat.

The demon _screamed_ , dropping Tony and backpedaling, its skin bursting into flame, the heat so intense that fat started to melt off the creature's bones, then flesh, then bone itself, and as Tony watched, wide-eyed, the fire consumed the demon until only a smoking stain was left on the tiled floor.

Leaning his skull back on the cool steel, Tony tried to catch his breath, panting, even as Steven abruptly appeared next to the stain.

"You're a little late," Tony rasped, as Steven glanced at the smoke, then stepped over to press a palm over his shoulder. The pain from his ribs disappeared, and Tony gingerly pulled himself to his feet. "Where were you?"

"You were doing well by yourself." Steven shrugged, a quirk playing at the edges of his mouth, then he sobered. "I was trying to prevent further casualties in Sioux Falls. A grigor pack was loose."

"Then-"

" _Was_ loose," Steven repeated, and reached over to take his arm. Tony blinked, and abruptly, they were back at the entrance to the hotel. Steven bent, to press fingers against Happy's forehead, and Happy stirred, looking up, disoriented. 

"Boss... where..."

"Just sit there for a bit, Happy. It's fine." Tony glanced over to Steven. "Thanks. I guess." 

"Soon," Steven smiled, cryptic and affectionate, then to Tony's surprise, leaned over for a quick peck over Tony's cheek, before he vanished again.

Well. Tony hadn't needed to know _that_ about angels, either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony isn't really sure what to make of his new, dysfunctional Archangel family.

IV.

Pepper had insisted that she deserved an explanation, which was fair enough, but after promising that she wasn't going to laugh right in his face if he gave her the truth, Tony rather sourly thought that she could have tried harder about it all.

"You?" Pepper managed to gasp, after about a few minutes of laughing so hard that she was leaning against his desk. "An _archangel_?"

"Okay, that's just gone past vaguely amusing into toeing on being 'hurtful'," Tony sulked, sunk into his chair at his office in Stark Tower. At least the ergonomic functionality meant that he could work up a truly epic brooding pose. 

"Tony, you once slept with the entire Swedish female handball team. All at once."

"Yes, well, that was _before_ ," Tony noted defensively, then added, "And they were pretty awesome, I should add. Flexibility _and_ strength. And youth. It was fun. And modern. Definitely modern. We're in a post-sexuality age. Just read the opinion columns."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "And that's by far not even the worst thing that I've heard of you doing."

"I do moral stuff," Tony folded his arms, scowling, "Charities and... um, stuff. Or you do it, and I pay, but it's my wallet, that means I'm involved. Right? And giving up weapons production. That was nice of me, wasn't it?" 

"All right, Tony," Pepper seemed to make a visible effort to sober up, though her eyes were still crinkling around the edges. "Assuming that the Archangel Michael is right, and that's taking a really, really big leap of faith on my part, what are you going to do now? If those demons are going to keep coming at you, you're going to have to revamp your security detail. Happy can't be expected to handle creatures from Hell just by himself."

"Apparently, _I'm_ the security detail," Tony muttered, though he could recognise Pepper's point. Up until he figured out how to bring out the firepower on will, he was a sitting duck, and anyone around him was just going to get seriously hurt. Steven had already shown that he couldn't be relied on to show up on time. "I had JARVIS take readings of the hotel. Whatever I was doing, there was a clear energy signature, of a wavelength pattern that I've never seen before, and it seems that I've started giving it off on a low level, even normally. I was thinking about making some sort of amplifier, or at the least, some kind of power focus. If I'm the source of whatever it is, maybe I could store it up."

That, at least where Tony had been concerned, had been the final, grudging piece of proof that he'd needed. He definitely wasn't human. Or at least, not any longer. 

Pepper wrinkled her forehead. "You're not irradiated, are you?"

"No!"

"Okay." Pepper picked at her sleeve, then she sighed. "I don't know, Tony. After Afghanistan, and then now this... look. You know that unless you can, at the least, grow wings or something, you're probably going to have to keep this from Stane and the others. They'll jump on the chance to declare you mentally unfit. As it is, they've been working overtime to see if they could overrule your decision to stop weapons production. And even if you _could_ grow wings, well-"

"Yeah." There was already a winged mutant in the X-men; Tony vaguely recalled seeing some news item on him around just Christmas last year, even. And mutant rights was still an extremely touchy subject, what with the massive structural damage to the Golden Gate Bridge some time ago and everything. Public opinion remained murky, and the directors might be able to use that against him. "I wasn't planning on letting them know. Besides, it's not as though it's obvious. _You_ laughed," he pointed out, sulkily. 

"Tony," Pepper said dryly, "I'm not sure that I _want_ to believe that you're an archangel. I don't know what that'll say about God. Or Heaven. Speaking of which, does God or Heaven exist?"

"I don't know?" At Pepper's arched eyebrow, Tony muttered, "I didn't ask."

"You didn't _ask_?"

"Hello? Personal identity-species crisis? Most people," Tony moaned, slouching dramatically deeper into his chair, "Just have a run-of-the-mill mid-life crisis about their life purpose and salary or whatever, don't they, solvable by alcohol and strippers. While _I'm_ going to at least need a swimming pool full of the former and a Swedish handball team full of the-"

"Maybe Michael is mistaken," Pepper mused out aloud. "He's got to be."

"I heard that."

V.

Uriel, or Clint, as he preferred to be called, had been a SHIELD agent long before Steven had come into the picture, and he announced that he personally didn't feel any different. "I can hit whatever I shoot at," he added, with a shrug, perched on Tony's workbench, dressed down in jeans and a black Zoo York shirt with a beer. "Always could. Apparently that's about it. Natasha - that's Raziel - she's better, she's just gotten the hang of that teleportation thing. I'm not sure that I want to."

"No big wings for you?"

"Nope. Don't want them. My call sign's 'Hawkeye' over at SHIELD as it is," Clint explained, when Tony arched an eyebrow from where he was tooling a pair of gauntlets to tap into the energy signature, "I think I've heard all the bird jokes ever invented."

"So, no memories of Heaven, God, the works?"

"Nope. 'Tasha doesn't, either. We're both not really sure that we want to remember anything. She's pretty happy right now with what she's managed to work out." Clint was apparently a man that was comfortably unfazed about everything. Possibly about life in general. It made the reality of Tony's weird situation somehow, reassuringly, less insane. "However, _I_ wish that I could melt shit with my hands." 

"Don't start," Tony muttered, "I don't remember how I did it." Not even after the second time.

"Hopefully it'll come back to you soon. It's all hands on deck right now, over at SHIELD, dealing with demons and protecting the sigils." 

"No pressure, huh?"

"Nope." Clint smirked. "It's easier for _you_. 'Tasha and I were SHIELD agents from back before Steve walked into the picture. The Director still acts like he's our boss. Gets pissy as anything if we defer anything to Steve."

"You mean, the angry pirate Morpheus?"

"He's a good man," Clint said defensively, though the smirk widened a fraction. "But I concede the rest of your description."

"So why did he send you over?" Clint had abruptly shown up on Saturday morning outside Tony's Malibu house, albeit with a keg of decent beer as a peace offering, and somewhat to Tony's surprise, they'd hit it off. Maybe because SHIELD agent status aside, Clint seemed unrelentingly, meatbag-level _normal_ , while Steven gave Tony a weird vibe, with his casual, past-history familiarity. 

"Eh," Clint shrugged, and reached over the workbench console to snag another beer from the portable cooler, "Whatever you can do with your hands - combined with your angel name - unnerves him. I'm just good at shooting stuff. 'Tasha's always been good at kicking ass in hand-to-hand. But _you're_ one of the big guns, up there with Michael and Lucifer. Just check the popular literature."

Tony rolled his eyes, which made Clint smirk, even as he attached the forearm cylinders. "Speaking of which, where's everyone else?" When Clint tilted his head, Tony elaborated, "Other angels? Aren't angels legion?"

"Nope. As I understand it, we're it," Clint lifted one of his shoulders into a shrug. "Hey, I was disappointed too. I thought we'd be commanding huge armies and shit, Braveheart style. Big charges and epic battles, the works."

Tony privately wasn't sure how he'd feel about that, or about the mental image of Clint painted blue, Braveheart-style, and relaxed a fraction. "So there were only ever about seven of us?"

"Dunno. Steve was pretty vague on the topic, and I wasn't really that interested on past history. I'm just a sniper. Why don't you ask him? He'll talk to you. He _always_ brings you up somehow. Before Afghanistan, he was always nagging about trying to find a way to locate your avatar, and that was annoying enough, but now he's pretty much unbearable."

Urgh. Steven was good looking, certainly, and Tony had always had a secret weakness for pretty, confident blondes of either gender, but this was starting to verge on disturbing. Even by Tony's flexible standards. Clint must have gotten a good look at his expression - the SHIELD agent laughed.

"Relax. Besides, aren't you Tony Stark? I thought you'd be all over that kind of thing." 

"What kind of thing?" Tony asked, fascinated, because as much as he did deserve parts of his reputation it was always amazing what people ended up coming up with. Especially on the internet.

"Sex?"

Tony fought the urge to facepalm. Or possibly, throw the heaviest screwdriver he had in his toolbox at a possibly-fellow-Archangel. "I have standards," he settled for noting loftily.

"Really? There was the Swedish handball-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, does _everyone_ know that story?" Tony cut in, with a deep sigh. "It was just once! Besides," he added irritably, when Clint opened his mouth, "Fine, it's me, all right? When Steve looks at me... I don't know if he does it with you and Natasha, but it's as though he's looking at me, and all the versions of me that came before me."

"He does that," Clint agreed. "Okay. I guess it's a bit creepy."

"Not... exactly creepy," Tony admitted, and continued in a rush, because he _had_ been thinking over this, sort of obsessively, ever since the Hotel Incident and the Talk With Pepper, "It's more of, what if I don't measure up? To all the versions of me that came before? Like you said, Gabriel's one of the big shot angels, isn't he? Or me? Fuck, that's confusing," Tony muttered, as Clint abruptly looked blank, "I mean, even my _secretary_ laughed when I told her that I was apparently the second coming of some archangel. Up until recently, I used to make most of my money by making _weapons_. I spent all my spare time drinking or fucking random people in random places. Maybe something went awry this time round, and..."

When Clint's expression stayed blank, Tony's brain ran through a brief line of possibilities, and settled with, "He's behind me, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"Tell him that if he tries to enact some sort of soap opera moment by hugging me from the back, I will seriously consider committing assault with the use of an unfinished titanium alloy gauntlet as a blunt weapon."

Clint's expression stayed militantly frozen, though his fingers twitched. "Sir, Mister Stark says that-"

"I heard." Steven sounded amused. "Thank you, Uriel."

That was a pointed dismissal if Tony had ever heard one, and rather to his surprise, instead of shooting back a snarky answer, Clint nodded and slipped off the workbench, heading briskly out of the lab. 

"I was talking to him," Tony growled, as Steven circled around to lean against the workbench, albeit at a respectful distance, big hands curled around the edge. 

"I know." The amusement had dropped, at least, and when Tony shot a sidelong glance at Steven, the archangel was looking down at his feet, his jaw set, as though he was... unhappy. "This happens every time, and I never do learn."

"You creep me out every time?"

"I alienate you," Steven corrected, though his mouth quirked briefly. "And we'll waste too much time fighting against each other, instead of alongside each other. It'll get worse when Ezekiel awakens. The two of you were - are - always close. I'll resent it, and I'll speak my mind when I shouldn't, and..." Steven exhaled, loudly, miserably. "Yet again."

"Um," Tony managed, intelligently, in the face of all that painfully raw honesty. "Uh, well." Work, brain! "Where are the other angels?" Tony ended up blurting out, as Tony-on-auto only managed to re-process operational-Tony's last salient question. At Steven's blink, Tony elaborated, "The normal angels. Rank and file? Cupids? Not that I really want to see little kids with bows and arrows, that's just like child soldiers and wrong, but-"

"There aren't any left," Steven cut into Tony's slightly panicky babble.

" _Left_?"

"In the previous cycle, we failed to stop the apocalypse. The final wars before the cycle turned were catastrophic." A grim cast settled over Steven's face, something of coldness, of an old wound that was still raw around the edges.

"Noah's Ark?" At Steven's nod, Tony scratched absently at his goatee. "That... doesn't make our chances this time round look good."

Steven shrugged. "I am confident."

"Not to dig that, but can't we ask, I don't know, _God_ , to make more angels? Refill the ranks? Recruit good souls or whatever the process is?"

"The Creator left stewardship of Earth to us long after the conclusion of the first cycle," Steven noted calmly. "It is his way. He has more worlds to forge. There will be no more angels."

"So. No God." Tony somehow wasn't entirely surprised on this point, but then, he'd never been particularly religious. "I know several million people just in this country who are going to be _pretty_ disappointed."

Steven smiled, faintly. "Perhaps."

"And so this time, you're stuck with a few half-'awakened' gimp archangels and no backup whatsoever, and you're confident?"

"Hell was not without its casualties, either."

"Okay," Tony stated, after a long moment of trying to grasp the calculus of divine war, "I think this is enough quasi-religious insanity that I can take for the day. Out." 

Steven pushed away from the workbench, though he glanced at the gauntlet with, again, that annoying air of familiarity, as though Tony was simply following a set of well-worn grooves, and it took a deep, deep breath for Tony to swallow the retort trying to clear his throat. "You have always had a far greater heart than you believed," Steven noted quietly, and vanished.

Tony shuddered. He'll put down the sudden, weird sense of lightheadedness to exasperation. "Fucking _angels_."

VI.

Raziel seemed to dislike Tony on the spot. In his defence, he would later say to Clint, when she vanished in a huff, Tony did really flirt with anyone that hot just on principle - this was _one_ part of his reputation that was arguably true, so it wasn't as though it was anything meant to be upsetting.

"She likes Steve," Clint explained, as he drew the bow that Tony had built experimentally, testing the heft and the balance. "This is great. It's _much_ better than SHIELD issue. But aren't you busy?"

"Needed a break." Redesigning what Tony mentally thought of as Stone Age weaponry had been fairly instructive, especially since the first couple of versions of his gauntlet hadn't seemed to work. He had to be missing something. Or maybe the whole premise of being able to store up and funnel divine energy was just not possible.

Tony liked defying the impossible. 

And besides, when Steven had looked at that gauntlet... it'd almost been as though he had _expected_ Tony to work on something like that.

Which was weird. Tony was pretty sure that particle engineering hadn't existed during the Great Flood. But speaking of Steven... "She _likes_ Steve?"

"Don't _worry_ ," Clint drawled, lowering the bow briefly, "She isn't looking to get into his pants. I don't think she even swings that way. Though," he added, "Steve could probably turn a lot of people into swing _ers_. If that's your problem."

"I'm fully equal opportunity," Tony-on-auto noted defensively, then he scowled. " _And_ I wasn't worried."

"Says you," Clint had a distressingly wide, evil streak of schadenfreude for the avatar of an angel.

"I hope you get winged up," Tony muttered snidely, as Clint notched an arrow to the bow and let fly. There was a whisper of air, and the arrow embedded itself in the centre of the target board.

"Not bad," Clint noted, satisfied.

"Wait for it." There was a beep, then the entire target board exploded. Tony grinned, ever entertained by explosions, big or small. It was a male caveman brain thing, possibly. "There."

"Holy shit." Clint looked down at the quiver he'd strapped onto his hip with a newfound wary respect. "They _all_ explode?"

"Nope. There's a list. I emailed it to you," Tony added, with the resigned reproachfulness of someone who'd known that his email recipient very likely never read emails, "Also, they're only activated once you notch and draw. Otherwise, they're dormant and highly resistant to shock, fire, acid and pressure. So you don't need to worry about them exploding while still in the quiver."

"You're awesome," Clint decided, fingering the discreet colour markings on the fletching reverently. "Is the boss paying you for this?"

"Which boss?" He knew it was a bit petty, but the way Clint had deferred instantly to Steven had made Tony irritable. 

Clint ignored the inference. "Either."

"It's a gift," Tony conceded, after a moment, because although Pepper and the board of directors might kill him for pro bono work, and he _had_ , yes, just noted on international television that he wasn't making weapons any longer, he was fairly sure that getting sufficient money out of Fury for unsolicited design was going to be difficult, and as to Steven, he probably had no use for money. Besides-

"I thought that you weren't making weapons anymore," Clint added. 

"I'm not making _commercially available_ weapons anymore," Tony corrected, having spent some time and a bottle of whisky on a bit of soul searching. "But if this is going to help you give us an edge against whatever's coming, I'm cool with that. If Natasha wants anything, she can let me know, too. We're going to need it."

"I'll ask." Clint extended a hand. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." The SHIELD agent's grip was firm, and slowly, Tony felt a little bit of his reservations peel away. In a sense, he felt, it was rather like abruptly being adopted into a family that he'd never known existed. It was a weird one, and at least half of the existing members were clearly fucked up in some way, but it was... _good_. It felt like he was starting to belong to something _big_ , something that was more than the sum parts of his inherited fortune and the destructive creations of his brain. 

"Hey," Clint cut into his thoughts, sounding worried. "If you're going to do something with that, I'm going to stand way over _there_."

Tony glanced down. The centre of each of his palms were _glowing_. But even as he stared, shocked, the glow ebbed and faded. He rubbed gingerly at the skin, which was still faintly warm, as though he'd been soaking his hand in bath water. 

"The fuck was that about?"

"You're asking _me_?" Clint had already edged a few steps away. "By the way, if you have a solar flare incident in the Triskelion, even if I don't die to it, Fury will skin me later, all right?"

"Barton, you're an archangel. Apparently. _Fury's_ only human."

"That doesn't mean anything!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, Tony thinks, later, maybe only the smart kids have the fucking insane and uncontrollable 'awakenings'.

VII.

Tony had been dozing off gently during an uninspiring geothermal presentation by a small Icelandic tech company when it suddenly felt as though someone had reached through his chair and shot a pulse of electricity up his spine. At his yelp, the painfully pale engineer at the projection console hesitated, as did the few directors who'd bothered to be present.

"Tony?" Stane asked, with apparent concern, though his eyes narrowed. 

"Sorry, I, uh, suddenly, got an idea! For, a touchpad device," Tony tried to ignore how Pepper's eyebrows were starting to rise up into the forehead stratosphere. "Um, inspiration calls, Obi, could you...?" Tony made a limp gesture at the projection screen. 

"Of course," Stane's practised smile took only a moment to come up. "Naturally Hafnarsson understands the _immediacy_ of inspiration."

The engineer nodded nervously, and Tony fled the room, shoving his hands into his pockets as he felt them start to warm up ominously. He sprinted into the lift, using his elbows to jab the close button with some effort, and he yelped again as Pepper squeezed through just as the doors started to close. "Pepper, don't-"

"Tony, you can't just... _Tony your hands are glowing_ ," Pepper said urgently, wide-eyed, as the glow started to filter through the pockets of a now-possibly-ruined Savile Row pinstripe bespoke. " _Why are your hands glowing_?"

"That's why I didn't want you to come into the lift! JARVIS, open the door. Let Pepper out. Then take me to the penthouse floor ASAP."

"Yes, sir." The lift door opened, and Pepper stepped out hurriedly, biting at her lower lip. 

"Tony..." she hesitated, then she sighed. "I'll think of something."

"You're a treasure, you're amazing, etcetera," Tony backed away into the lift as far as he could go. "JARVIS!"

Tony had been expecting the worst by the time he staggered out of the lift into the penthouse floor, but even as he gingerly drew his hands out of his pockets to examine them, he noted, after a few moments of mild panic, that (a) no solar flare seemed to be imminent and (b) the effect just seemed as though he had circular discs of light just under his skin. Creepy, but so far, nothing was melting, which was... good? Right? Good.

"Steve?" Tony called out warily, and waited.

After a long moment of zilch, Tony irritably fished out his cell phone. For someone who was apparently semi-stalking Tony, Steven was starting to accumulate a bad track record of never showing up when he was actually wanted.

Fury didn't pick up; instead, there was a pause, as though the call was getting routed somewhere, then a clipped, male voice said, "SHIELD HQ."

"Hi! This is Tony Stark. I need to talk to Steve... er... Michael... or Fury, or Natasha, or Clint. Barton. Now."

"Ah, Mister Stark. I'm Agent Coulson," the man said smoothly. "I'm afraid that all of the above are occupied at present."

"Yes, well, my hands are glowing and I'm in the middle of New York City," Tony grit out, "So get _one_ of them to get unoccupied, _stat_."

"As unfortunate as it might be for the top few floors of Stark Industries to be... de-incorporated," Coulson's tone didn't even change, the dickwad, "I invite you to turn on your television, Mister Stark."

That seemed like a non-sequitur, but- "JARVIS, turn on the tv."

The large wall-mounted LCD screen attached to the inward-facing wall of the penthouse suite switched on. On the screen, a female television presenter spoke urgently, her back against an overhead view of a smoking crater half a block wide, in the middle of some sort of mixed residential use area. "...authorities are investigating an attack in the middle of Brooklyn that has landed at least fifteen people in hospital. There have been no confirmations of any casualties or any confirmations on the source of the violence. The police have cordoned off the area and residents are advised to remain indoors and calm..."

The overhead camera panned up. Tony squinted. "JARVIS, focus in on that smoke plume to the southeast. Hack CCTV on the ground if you have to." 

There was a moment as the screen flickered, then it was replaced by a grainy, black and white shot of something large and vaguely humanoid-looking, its edges blurred and shifting, like a dense cloud that had taken almost solid shape. It raised huge, slab-like fists that could crush a man from shoulder to knee in their grip and slammed down like a pile driver, onto a man holding what looked like an upraised, circular, plain metal shield.

It was _Steven_.

Steven's knees bent a little under the impact, that drove him back a few feet, then he darted away to dodge a follow-on swing even as Natasha abruptly vaulted up from the huge fist and out of the view of the screen with a dancer's grace. Steven hesitated, shouting something, gesturing, and distracted, couldn't get out of the way of the next swing, punched out of sight.

"Oh... fuck."

"Indeed, Mister Stark." Tony nearly dropped the phone in shock; he had forgotten that he was holding it. He took in a deep breath, gasping; he hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath while watching the footage. 

"I need to be there." When Coulson took in a breath, Tony added, sharply, "My hands are _glowing_. This has got to be connected somehow. Although traffic's going to be a bitch getting there, and my helicopter's in Malibu-"

"Look to your left, Mister Stark." 

Tony turned to glance at the wide balcony that led out of the suite to the helipad, and a small black helicopter abruptly rose into view. Within it, behind the pilot, a compact, fussy-looking man in a suit and headphones waved curtly at him. "Try not to blow us up, sir," Coulson said, with a glance at his hands, as Tony climbed up the unrolled rope ladder and scrambled into the helicopter. "Records indicate that your self-control leaves much to be desired."

"I think that the both of us are going to be the _bestest_ of friends," Tony grit out.

VIII.

The brawl had advanced several blocks by the time Tony got into sight. Clint was on the rooftops, notching another tranquilizer arrow to his bow, and he nodded as Tony gingerly climbed down the rope ladder and dropped onto the concrete. The helicopter lifted off, possibly along with the last of Tony's sanity.

What the hell was he doing here anyway? Tony tried to keep fit, fine, but he was pushing past his mid-forties, he was one of the most valuable people in the world, and he was, and always, a civilian, damnit, unreliable hand-glowing powers aside. The glowing hands schtick had to be affecting more than just his extremities. 

"What've we got?" Tony asked anyway, even as the tranquilizer arrow embedded itself in the back of the monster on the street to no apparent effect. Whatever it was looked like a gas cloud monster of some sort, this close, greenish and gray in shifting hues, like energy made solid; as tall as a one-storey building, and dimly, in the centre of it all, was a faint outline, also humanoid. "New sort of demon? I thought demons only did the red-orange-black sort of colour scheme. This is a bit off-message, isn't it?"

"Apparently? That's Ezekiel." Clint pulled a face.

"What? Isn't he on our side?" Tony peered over the ledge of the building. This was the creature that Tony was meant to be close to? 

"You know how you had a solar flare incident? Seems this is Ezekiel's version."

"He turns big, ugly and green, then smashes everything?"

"Yup." Clint, Tony noted sourly, seemed to be enjoying this, at the least - the SHIELD agent was openly grinning. "By the way, again, if you're going to do something with your hands, stand way over there, all right?"

" _Look_ , my hands haven't 'gone off' since that hotel thing, and they didn't _fire bolts_ or whatever it is that you're thinking of-" There was some sort of energy pulse, like a milder version of the sensation he'd felt in the morning, jolting up his wrist, then Tony yelped as a white _beam_ shot out from his right palm, and severed a street light just above the Ezekiel-monster's head, earthing itself in the brickwork beyond.

Ezekiel _roared_ , turning around, shaking off Natasha's second leap onto his shoulders, before he bounded up onto the roof of a small grocery with impossible agility, turning to glance at them with its shapeless face, crouching, and leaping again, clearing another couple of buildings with a single spring, landing heavily enough to crunch concrete. This much closer, Ezekiel's cloud-monster form was even uglier than Tony thought - he looked almost like a child's play-dough model of a human, eyeless, noseless; only a maw that gaped open now and then, like a black void, to make a guttural, inhuman roar that made the very ground tremble.

Oops.

"Tony!" Clint grabbed his wrist and yanked them both off the roof even as Ezekiel leaped at them, and even three floors up, this _was_ going to _hurt_ and... and something swept up into them, twisting, arresting their fall. Steven grunted in pain as he landed on his back right into the windscreen of a Toyota, wings splayed and flailing as he cushioned them both against the impact. 

The car's siren squealed as it went off; above, Ezekiel snarled as he looked off the edge of the roof at them, clearly preparing to jump and crush them all into the asphalt. 

Growling, Tony raised both his hands, palms up. "Oh, _no_ you don't-"

" _No_ , Gabriel," Steven snapped, slapping his wrists to the side. "You'll hurt him!"

"That's the idea!"

"He's one of _us_ ," Steven disagreed fiercely, then he shoved Tony and Clint off the car, raising his shield and bracing himself even as Ezekiel landed, crushing concrete beneath his feet and slamming his fists against the shield again, crunching Steven into the hood. As Tony watched in horror, the monster grabbed hold of the shield with one hand, and with the other, gripped one of Steven's beautiful wings-

Then it roared, staggering back, as a smoke cloud plumed up around it, batting ineffectively at the air and backpedalling out of the cloud even as Clint lowered his bow and hurriedly pulled Steven off the car. Natasha closed in, silent and deadly, but her quick swipes at the monster's hamstrings didn't seem to have any effect, her daggers only sweeping through the thick energy-cloud, and even as she circled away, avoiding a swing, a sniper bullet ploughed a furrow through Ezekiel's shoulder that he ignored. A quick glance up revealed Coulson, furiously reloading a rifle, balanced precariously on the edge of the helicopter as it hovered up at hopefully a safe distance.

"Hey! Ezekiel!" Tony knew he probably should be backing off to take cover, but when Ezekiel looked over its shoulder towards where Clint had pulled Steven up against a wall, Tony found that he couldn't help himself. "Pick on somebody else!" 

"Gabriel, _don't_ ," Steven tried to lurch forward, but Tony had had fucking _enough_ , and in his opinion, a green energy monster could probably afford a few scorch marks or two in non-essential bits. 

The energy bolt thing was easier to summon up this time round, if Tony concentrated on the memory of the tingling, electrical sensation, and fine, his aim was a _little_ awry, catching Ezekiel high up on his arm instead of in the ribs as Tony had tried. The monster _growled_ as he staggered back , then he hesitated, one of his massive hands going up to touch the smoking burn mark left in the energy cloud. 

"Ga-briel," Ezekiel rumbled, sounding confused, glancing down at Tony's glowing hands, then he looked over to where Natasha was watching warily, from a safe distance. "Ra-ziel... U-riel. Mich-ael."

Steven pushed away from Clint. "Yes, Ezekiel. Welcome."

"Hrrr." Ezekiel took another unsteady step back, then the cloud-energy seemed to dissipate, drifting up like steam rising, flowing out and into nothing until just a familiar-looking man remained, blinking in the sunlight, wide-eyed, dressed in a lab coat, of all things. 

"What... what just happened?"

Tony scanned his memory. "Doctor Banner? The gamma ray expert?"

"You're... you're Tony Stark!" Banner gaped at him in sheer surprise. "What's happening? Where am I? What's going on?"

"Sir, we're going to need you to calm down," Natasha said firmly, even as Banner stiffened, wincing, and grabbed at his shoulder blades. His hand came away with a small dart, and even as Banner stared at it, he started to fold over, collapsing into an ungainly heap on the asphalt.

"What did you do that for?" Tony demanded, as Clint lowered his gun. "He was fine!"

"Subject contained," Clint shrugged.

"Up until he wakes up green, massive and furious?"

"This is Black Widow," Natasha stated, ignoring Tony's outburst, fingers pressed to a hidden earpiece. "Package delivered. Awaiting extraction, status green, over." 

"You're going to just let them take him?" Tony rounded on Steven, who had tucked his wings away into nowhere and was padding over to him.

"Ezekiel's awakening has always been difficult. They will not harm him. _You_ could have hurt him, if you had hit his core."

"He was about to crush us at the time?"

"The situation was under control."

"Says the person who would have been _angel jam_ on that hood if the rest of us didn't pull your ass out of the fire."

"Besides, what you did could have hurt more than Ezekiel," Steven stated sternly, "Had you hit any of the rest of us, I could not have healed that damage. Coming into battle before you had fully awakened was reckless and irresponsible."

"SHIELD was already on its way to pick me up when I called Fury."

Steven scowled. "I'll speak to Fury about that. Regardless, you shouldn't have accepted."

" _You_ let me face a demon by myself just a few days ago!"

"Innocent lives were at stake! And-"

"Uh," Clint tentatively raised a palm. "This is fascinating and all, but could we take the family drama off the streets? Maybe? Because New Yorkers have this big cellphone-to-human ratio, and if we're all going to end up on YouTube as it is, I'll _rather_ not be in the middle of some kinda soap opera."

Shit. Tony had forgotten about needing to lay low. Pepper was going to _kill_ him. 

"This isn't over, Gabriel," Steven told him, though he now seemed unhappily resigned, looking back at the wrecked cars lining the street. He exhaled, clenching his fists tightly, and then Steven vanished. 

"Dick," Tony muttered. 

"I'll take you back to Stark Tower, Mister Stark," Natasha offered, in a tone that was perfectly frosty. Ouch. 

Tony hesitated, then he sighed, as his conscience prodded at him pointedly. The damage had already been done, as far as Stane and the directors were concerned, and besides, he wasn't really sure that he wanted to leave Banner to Fury's dubious mercies. "No. I'll head along with you guys, in case he wakes up angry and green again."

IX.

Perhaps to everyone's relief, Banner did not, in fact, wake up as the Green Demolition Man, Take Two, and instead seemed to be utterly bewildered about his situation, even after being shown the surveillance tape of the entire incident. "I was just working in the labs," he repeated, for the fifth time, as Fury glowered at him, "I work for General Ross."

"Project SOLDIER is highly experimental," Fury growled, ballsy for someone who'd probably just had to organize clean up of several streets' worth of extensive property damage mostly caused by the man that he was being ballsy _to_ , "Something must have happened to you this morning, Doctor Banner."

"I've told you, I don't remember," Banner retorted, a touch testily, and Tony grimaced as he saw Natasha tense slightly, behind Fury.

"Uh, could I speak to Banner? Scientist to scientist? Meaning in private?" Tony suggested, and tried not to flinch as Fury aimed the full force of his scowl at him instead. After a second, however, Fury nodded curtly, and stalked out of the infirmary room, Natasha at his heels. Clint shot Tony a dubious look, but when Tony waved at him, he stepped out, closing the door. "JARVIS."

"Yes, sir." Banner flinched when Tony's 'watch' glowed.

"Fix the eyes on high, will you? Maybe loop something nice for the feeds. Like the latest episode of My Little Pony."

"Immediately, sir." 

"Okay. I think we've probably got a few minutes before they figure it out," Tony said breezily, "And probably a few more after that before they decide to interrupt. So."

"So to recap," Banner noted shakily, "I'm an... angel? And so are you? And those two agents behind the angry man?"

"I know, it's crazy, isn't it? I mean, an angel? Me? You've probably read about me, if you've ever seen any of the gossip papers. My secretary laughed in my face, if it makes you feel any better. Some days I don't even believe it myself."

"Well," Banner calmed down a little, even offering a faint quirk of his mouth, "You're a brilliant man, Mister Stark."

"So are you. And call me Tony. Seeing as we're all now supposedly on the same team. And before you start, no, I'm not going to respond to 'Gabriel'."

"Then you should call me 'Bruce'." Bruce relaxed a little further. "This _is_ crazy."

"Tell me about it."

"Angels turning into some sort of mindless wrecking ball? That wasn't in the Bible."

"I gather that _lots_ of things weren't in the Bible."

"There has to be some sort of scientific explanation," Bruce mused out aloud. "For my... whatever it was. And maybe the energy beams from your hands. Even the wings. Whatever means the Archangel Michael is using to defy gravity... he'll need a far larger wingspan to take flight... maybe he generates a separate particle density field..."

Tony beamed. "Finally. _Someone_ here speaks _English_. It's a good theory, but it doesn't really explain the way he can make the wings disappear. Or travel instantaneously."

Bruce smiled wryly at him. "It's worth looking into. What a day of surprises. I couldn't have believed yesterday that I'll be talking to Tony Stark within twenty-four hours about angelic anatomy. Let alone the bit about turning into a giant monster angel."

"Creature. Angels aren't monsters. Check the popular propaganda."

"Semantics," Bruce retorted, automatically, then he shook his head. "All right. I guess... look, I was working on my gamma experiments. I wasn't in a... I've been having a week full of personal problems, I guess. And Ross was getting impatient with the lack of results. We were having an argument. That's the last thing I remember." There was a pause, then Bruce went very pale. "Oh no... the lab! What happened to it?"

"There haven't been any casualties," Tony said soothingly. Apparently Steven had been taking care of that. 

"That's good," Bruce looked relieved for only a moment, before horror camped back onto his face. "My samples! My research!" 

"Bruce, if the End of Days is really coming, I think you can probably leave off the gamma ray experimentation for now. You're going to have more things to be worried about." 

"I guess." Bruce said unhappily. "At the least, I'm going to have to make sure that this morning doesn't happen again. It's a miracle that I didn't kill anyone."

"I suppose yes, technically a miracle. Steven - that's callsign Michael - can heal," Tony explained. 

"That's a relief. I guess until I get the hang of it, it's probably better that I stay here with you guys," Bruce noted reluctantly. "Or I'll just be a danger to everyone."

"There's a lab here. Nothing like what I'm used to, but it's... functional. With amendments. That I can provide, if you need it." Whatever Bruce discovered might be relevant to the rest of them, anyway. Tony hands had remained stubbornly non-glowing for the rest of the trip, even during a quick trip down to the practice range when Bruce was still out for the count. The unreliable functionality was starting to get _old_.

"Thanks. I do feel better about it with you here," Bruce admitted. "You can call in the rest now, I'll try to tell them what I know." 

"Just don't take the angry pirate guy at face value," Tony warned, though he got up and trotted out of the room. 

Oddly enough, Fury and the rest were gone, but Coulson was waiting patiently, almost statue-still. "Mister Stark."

"Bruce's happy to go along for the ride. He'll like access to the lab."

"Of course. That will be arranged. Incidents aside, SHIELD is happy to have someone of Doctor Banner's calibre on board." Coulson nodded at him, and padded into the room, presumably to meticulously arrange Bruce's stay in the Triskelion as neatly as he'd planted a bullet through Bruce-Creature's shoulder just a few hours ago. 

SHIELD agents were possibly robotic. 

Tony had located the nearest coffee machine, and was in the middle of considering whether or not to drink a second cup of awful coffee or fix up the filtration device when Steven reappeared next to him. "You spoke to Ezekiel."

"His name's Bruce, and yes, he's fine now."

There was a long pause, then Steven muttered, "Good. And he did remember you when he was in that... state."

" _After_ I shot at him," Tony reminded Steven pointedly. "The job's done, Bruce is unhurt, and we have one more dysfunctional member to our happy family, don't we? Maybe initiative goes a long way?"

"Not with the power that you have at your disposal," Steven said stiffly. "Gabriel, please. I don't want to argue with you. But you _have_ to understand-"

" _Not_ listening," Tony interrupted, and actually, he _could_ be mature, really, it was just that he had little patience for people harping on about topics. Especially since it turned out that Tony was right in this instance.

" _Why_ must you always be so _difficult_?"

"I don't know, why do _you_ still have a stick up your ass if you've actually been exposed to different versions of me over a few lifetimes?" Tony shot back. "Did we _seriously_ use to get along at all? Because frankly, the only other 'angel' I've met so far whom I've actually liked being around just spent the morning wrecking a quarter of Brooklyn. Okay, and maybe I'm fine with Clint, when he has beer, but _you_?"

Steven reddened, but his voice remained even. "You're part of a team. You have to act like you are."

"Firstly, this team thing? Not chosen by me. And I don't normally, ever, play well in teams. Unless I'm leading it. Secondly, no-one's told me what to do ever since I was eighteen. Possibly younger. Thirdly, and again? If I work with you guys, it's going to be on _my_ terms."

Big hands clenched so tightly that their knuckles whitened, and Steven seemed as though he was on the verge of a biting remark, then he shook himself visibly and looked away, instead. "Why must it _always_ start like this?"

"And, I forgot to add, whenever you do that, it's creepy."

"I," Steven began, frowned to himself, exhaled, and vanished.

"Dick," Tony muttered reflexively, and turned back to the coffee machine. He'll probably have to take it apart. 

Besides, a bit of minor engineering work might help him clear his head. Before he gave in to that new conscience thing prodding at him and apologized, or something equally stupid. Steven had to learn that not everybody was going to sit up and wag their fucking tails when he told them to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't suddenly gaining super powers usually meant to be awesome? Tony was starting to feel let down by popular literature here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, guys. Term's ending in a few weeks. I should have more free time then. In the meantime, tons of shiet is due and stuff :/

X.

Tony was just putting the finishing touches on the reconstructed coffee machine, using rudimentary tools borrowed from the SHIELD labs, when his phone went off. Balancing it between his shoulder and his cheek, Tony muttered, "Tony Stark."

"Tony where have you _been_?" Pepper demanded, in a rush. 

"Um. Fighting monsters? This is New York, isn't it? I'm sure it's all over YouTube by now." Tony rather doubted that SHIELD's influence extended over the Internet, no matter how piratical the Director looked.

" _Exactly_!" Pepper paused, taking in a deep breath. "Stane's just held a meeting with the other directors. They've declared that you're an impersonator. They've filed an emergency injunction with the Court to freeze your assets and your hold on your company."

" _What_."

"Your DNA's on file with the company, Tony, remember? Because of your dad's Will? You're a hundred per cent human according to that file. Humans don't have hands that glow, Tony. Or come back from a StarkTech explosion with no scars."

Tony took in a deep, slow breath, gritting his teeth. "Pepper, are you-"

"They're going to reverse your decision about weapons manufacture," Pepper plowed on in a rush, as though she hadn't heard. "Happy and I are going to resign and I think half of HR and Tech are going to follow and-"

"Hey, _slow down_ , Pep, _slow down_ ," Tony barked, sitting down and resting his forehead against the new, warm coffee machine. "Okay. Let's take this from the top. Where the fuck are my lawyers?"

"Conflict of interest. Skadden acts for Stark Industries. Also, you don't have any money right now." 

True. That was often a major damper where corporate legal justice was involved, in Tony's experience. Wait. "They've frozen _all_ my money?"

"I told you," Pepper exhaled. "They're alleging fraud."

"This is ridiculous-"

"Tony, you've been featured on all the major news networks, blasting... blasting lasers from your _hands_. Public opinion's still fractured on mutant rights, ever since Mystique from the Brotherhood impersonated a senator, remember? It wasn't clear from the videos, but there was a _lot_ of property damage."

"It wasn't caused by me! Well, not mostly. A little. One _lamp post_. And public opinion is usually fucking stupid," Tony fought the urge to bash his head against the coffee machine. _Damn_ it. He should have known that this would have happened. He should have _thought_ a little. "Okay. The situation's not impossible. Send Happy to pick me up. I'm going to have to call in some favours."

"Fraud's a _criminal_ charge, Tony. There's a warrant out for your arrest. You're in some sort of government... thing right now, aren't you?" Pepper asked, sounding worried. "Can they help?"

Fury hadn't struck Tony as the kind of person who would do favours for the hell of it, but it was possible that he might be persuaded, if only because he might think that having one pseudo-archangel stuck behind bars might prove to be a damper on the apocalypse. Hopefully. "I'll ask."

Criminal charges at his age. Daddy Stark would have been so proud. 

"Good luck, Tony. Stay in touch."

"Don't resign yet. Maybe this could get resolved quickly." Or maybe the world would be ending soon and it would matter fuck all. That would be ironic.

"All right," Pepper conceded reluctantly. "I'll see if I can keep you updated."

"Sure. You be careful too," Tony added, doubtfully. Stane might have turned out to be a vicious, backstabbing snake, but Pepper probably wasn't worth his time. Besides, it would be a waste of a perfectly good secretary, bodyguard, and possibly the HR and Tech department. 

It _was_ nice to see where company loyalties lay. Kind of. 

"And, Tony? If it's any comfort," Pepper let out a small laugh, "I believe you. About the angel thing. You're _really_ an angel, I think. God help us."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tony scowled, but Pepper had already hung up. 

Steven was in Fury's office when Tony ignored the murderous glares of the door goons and sauntered in. Steven blinked, before his expression went blank, and Fury narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. "What do you want, Stark?"

"Seems I'm now a criminal," Tony didn't really see the point of beating around the bush. "I'll need that sorted. Possibly with extreme prejudice, but I'm not picky."

"Your company is your own business, Stark," Fury retorted, even as Steven looked confused.

"That'll be a fun thing to remember when I'm in jail."

"I could possibly delay the sentencing," Fury conceded, "But I can't make the charges go away. Who do you think I am, the fairy fucking godmother?"

"...I don't think I deserved that mental image," Tony muttered after a long and horrible moment, rubbing at his eyes. "So you're not going to help me."

"I can make sure that you won't be arrested if you go out in public," Fury scowled, "But you're probably going to have to agree to a period of house arrest until it's arranged. Here," he clarified, when Tony blinked. "I'm not thrilled about it either, Stark. As far as I'm concerned, you've proved rather amply to me that you're far more trouble than you're worth, and if not for Michael's assurances that we need you, I'll have preferred to leave you out of this team altogether. You're a loose cannon."

"What's the problem, Gabriel?" Steven asked carefully, when Tony took in a deep breath.

"It'll take too long to explain to you," Tony snapped stiffly. Steven opened his mouth, frowning, then he closed it with a sigh, and looked away. " _You_ got Coulson to fetch me, Fury."

"I was under the impression that you would actually be an asset on the field," the SHIELD Director's expression didn't change, "Somehow I didn't expect you to continuously disregard the chain of command and start firing on your own allies. Maybe I expected more of you than I should have."

" _Look_ -"

"Go take a walk and cool off, Stark. I'll contact you once I've made the arrangements."

XI.

Tony was still seething by the time he was herded into the SHIELD labs by Coulson, presumably under the mistaken impression that if Tony was busy, he would be harmless. Unfortunately, Bruce was already in the labs, and his bewildered expression when Tony was more or less shoved into his lab chamber dampened Tony's inclination towards destruction, just a fraction. An angry green rampage when Tony's power was on the fritz was possibly not going to be a great footnote to an already horrific day.

"Well, I don't see the problem," Bruce said doubtfully, when Tony had slouched into a chair to bitch, "We can take a blood test right now and correlate the DNA. If it's still a hundred per cent human, you can fight the allegations. If it's not, we can come up with some sort of cover story."

"Rather than the truth," Tony noted dryly. Bruce did, however, have a good point. It was possible that Tony was just overreacting.

"Ah, well, a scientific explanation of the truth," Bruce corrected himself, without missing a beat. "SHIELD has enough equipment to start with the blood test. Roll up one of your sleeves and I'll go sterilize some needles."

Biology had never particularly been his interest or his forte. Tony grit his teeth through the procedure, then hung around the lab, bored, as Bruce began to analyse his blood sample. "You know," Tony groused, "I guess this could have happened earlier. It probably would have happened sooner or later. There was a demon thing, earlier, but I suppose nobody saw me get rid of it. Fury took care of clean up, and it was in an enclosed environment."

"An actual demon?" Bruce glanced up from the viewing scope of the TEM, curious. "Humanoid?"

"Humanoid, and with a face that only a mother could love." And one that had woken him up a couple of times in the middle of the night since.

Tony was beginning to feel betrayed by narrative convention. In his opinion, abruptly finding out that one was an angel and/or had angelic powers shouldn't be a discovery accompanied by bad dreams and bankruptcy.

"Does SHIELD have the carcass in storage?"

"Nope, I melted it. Why?"

Bruce looked visibly disappointed. "Think of the scientific discoveries that could have been made. A fully alien, but still humanoid physiology! Just being able to look at its bone structure, its dermatological-"

"It was kinda trying to crush me to death at the time," Tony scowled. "Besides, if there's really a war starting, you'll probably get your chance to meet some of them. If you don't pound your specimens into itty stains on the sidewalk first."

Bruce sighed, though he looked back down at the TEM. "I think I may have isolated the cause of that. I spoke to Michael. Strong emotional responses help to trigger... a corresponding reaction. At least for us. The others seem to be able to channel their abilities all the time with no problems, but it seems that our 'awakening' has always been 'difficult'. Assuming that the premise of his reincarnation theory is true."

"Higher intelligence leads to a corresponding instability in divine powers?"

"I wouldn't say that," Bruce allowed, though his mouth quirked up briefly. "This is going to take a few hours, by the way. You, uh, you don't have to hang around, I'll get one of the Agents to contact you once I'm done."

"I'm stuck here," Tony reminded him. "Criminal charges, remember?"

"Okay," Bruce conceded, dubiously, "Still. Unstable transformation powers, remember?" 

"And I have unstable face melting powers. We could set up some sort of club. 'Unstable Angel Powers Anonymous'." 

Now that his initial burst of outraged indignation, or, possibly, the insta-SHIELD coffee, was beginning to wear off, Tony could feel himself getting depressed about it all. He'd never particularly felt emotionally attached to his company before; he had always just seen it as some sort of prop in his life that had always been there, just another part of his father's shadow that he'd inherited along with the house, the cars and the trust funds.

It was rather subduing to know that after spending most of his life after his father's death trying to surpass his legacy, he'd had no real control over the way that he'd accidentally kicked himself out of it. 

"If you say so, Tony," Bruce murmured, pointedly distracted, and after a futile period attempting to pry some conversation out of him, Tony gave it up as a bad job and slunk away towards the tech labs. Coulson reappeared at his elbow, possibly magically, directed him politely but firmly into one of the private labs, and managed to politely but firmly suggest that should Tony try to be 'helpful' in the main synch or ops labs, he, Coulson, had been authorised to tase Tony with extreme prejudice.

Left alone, Tony was sulkily considering hacking into the SHIELD mainframe to entertain himself, and/or possibly install an endless Rickrolling screensaver into Fury's personal access point, when Steven abruptly appeared in the room.

"Whoah!" Tony was never going to get used to that. 

"You might want these," Steven noted neutrally, and placed the latest version of the gauntlets that Tony had been tooling on the nearest workbench.

"Thanks, I guess?" Deep breaths. If the dickwad was trying to make nice, Tony supposed that he did need a few allies for now, since he was effectively stuck in the Triskelion until Fury finished fixing whatever it was that he was doing. "Not that they work, but-"

"They've never worked, not the way you built them for," Steven interrupted. "But they've always served to hide what you were from humanity, at least for a while. You've always sought to live as one of them for as long as possible, each cycle."

"Okay, firstly, remember what I said about this being creepy. Secondly, how exactly are they meant to act as a disgu... _Oh_. I see. Past-me might be on to something there." It was a plausible explanation, describing the hand beams as some sort of unstable tech upgrade. After all, Tony had never been above self-experimentation with some of the tech that he'd come up with; he had some interesting scars on his thigh to prove it, too. If he came up with a good name, made the packaging extra shiny, maybe the sleight of hand _would_ work. 

Up until the point that he sprouted wings.

Or took a DNA test.

"Good as the idea is, if my blood doesn't pass as human, then it won't work. We have DNA testing now. Having an approximate meat suit isn't enough any longer." 

Steven shrugged. "If the Director can stall the course of human justice, perhaps he can arrange for your tests to be amended." 

It was a good point. Assuming that Fury _could_ and _was_ willing to do it. When Tony grimaced, Steven added, more quietly, "I'll ask him."

"All right. And I appreciate the effort at making nice," Tony added cautiously, because despite Pepper's sometime opinions, he wasn't a totally spoiled brat, thank you very much. "I'm surprised. I thought you would have been all for having the lot of us under one roof to keep an eye on."

"I want you to be happy, Gabriel," Steven said, low and earnest, "I hope that you'll trust _that_ much from me. If I could help you further, I want to, just let me know."

That was, well... nice, Tony supposed. New. Someone being nice to him not because of his money or status but because he'd known previous versions of Tony in separate lives. Very much Jerry Springer material. Possibly romantic, in a creepy way. "Okay," he conceded, awkwardly. "Thanks. Steve."

"I'll go and talk to the Director," Steven fidgeted a little and ducked his head, a strange look on a person - angel - that was fully kitted out in poster-boy-meathead-army-chic, "And, uh, the next time you speak with Ezekiel, I'll like to be there. I'm curious. About the DNE test."

"It's 'DNA', Steven," Tony corrected automatically. "I'm sure you'll learn about it from SHIELD records eventually and... you're jealous," Tony concluded, incredulous, when Steven glanced away and reddened slightly. "That's _hilarious_."

"Not to me," Steven muttered stiffly, when Tony smirked at him and folded his arms. "He needs to learn how to control his transformations. We don't have much time left. SHIELD could have helped you with the 'DNA testing'."

"Says the person who only heard about DNA testing thirty seconds ago."

"I don't understand why you're always immediately friendly with Ezekiel," Steven seemed to blurt out, reddening further. "You always awaken before he does. I usually find you first. And I _try_ , so _hard_ , each time, but.... Why is it always so difficult for me?"

"What, has previous-me slept with a previous-him?" Tony drawled facetiously. When Steven's flush actually managed to deepen, Tony blinked, and laughed outright. Well then. "You're... okay, I guess, possibly, that's not exactly surprising. What I find surprising is that past-me hasn't slept with any of the others. Or do you just have something against Bruce?"

"Raziel and Uriel tend to prefer human partners. Ramiel and Lucifer... it's usually complicated," Steven amended, frowning slightly. 

" _Complicated_?"

Steven somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable. "Yes. But anyway-"

"Considering this is concerning the boss of the opposition, I think it's _pretty relevant_." 

"I'm not... entirely sure, I have to admit," Steven hesitated. "And the circumstances are usually slightly different each cycle. But they are close. And often, Ramiel's awakening marks the start of Revelation."

"Do we even know what Lucifer currently looks like?"

"No. He has shown his hand, but not himself."

That was an intel flaw right there. "Great." 

"You'll know, when he is close by." Steven tapped at the centre of one of his palms pointedly. "But he usually works in subtle ways."

"All right, as enlightening as this has been," Tony noted dryly, "Do you seriously not get why this is 'so difficult' for you?"

"Tell me."

"You're hot," Tony ticked off his fingers, "I like blondes, and I do in fact have a weakness for nice boys from the military. _Usually_ , however, it's kind of a tradition to at least nominally get friendly first before dropping baggage all over the place. _Meaning_ ," Tony added, slightly more kindly, when Steven merely looked utterly bewildered, "Not that I'm suggesting that my tabloid reputation isn't well-deserved for the most part, but I do appreciate some nominal attempt at standard procedure. Like a drink."

Not that Tony's standard procedure involved very much more than meeting something young, blonde and leggy at a gala and having a bit of a chat, a drink, and a pleasant segue into his Ferrari/Stark Tower/property of choice, but still. Tony was fairly sure that having a stranger walk up to you and hit on you via alluding to your past lives together was possibly not standard procedure anywhere except maybe in the Bible Belt and/or bits of the Himalayas.

It took Steven some time to work out Tony's fragmented sentencing, then he _smiled_ , a little shy, a lot boyish, and, fine, that was cute. Maybe even hot, creepy time-hopping stalkerish attitudes aside. Tony was mildly thankful for his proximity to the workbench, as a salient bit of his anatomy twitched in interest.

Traitor.

"Let's get a late lunch?" Steven suggested. 

"I'm kinda under house arrest here," Tony reminded him dryly. "And I'm rather well known in public, so if there's a warrant out, it might make things a bit complicated." Police chases didn't strike Tony as a fine way to pass the afternoon.

"That won't be a problem where we're going," Steven held out a hand, and oh, what the hell. It wasn't as though his day could get any weirder-

-or not. They reappeared on a white beach, the sea crystal blue before them over plates of bright coral, stretching towards a distant cyan dream of a sky. Behind them was a lush forest, tropical, probably, the shadows marked by birdsong, and it was warm and bright, as though they'd landed somewhere in the middle of a lazy afternoon. White pillars stretched out over the canopy at irregular spaces, and in the distance, there was something domed in mother-of-pearl, that gleamed against the backdrop of the sky, and... wait...

"Where's the sun?" Tony looked around quickly. "No, scratch that. Where are we?"

"Eden," Steven explained, as though that was self-evident.

"... you're fucking with me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eden was... boring.

XIII

Eden was... boring.

There. 

This was probably incontrovertible proof that God had fucked up a little in Tony-Gabriel's personality (re?)construction. But after a couple of hours or so of wandering around looking at birds, weirdly angular white structures seemingly carved out of solid pieces of rock, and no internet reception whatsoever, Tony was ready to start setting things on fire.

"Okay," Tony slouched onto a flat rock, possibly to the detriment of his Savile Row pants, "Did I really use to like this place?"

"It was different once," Steven explained, though his lips quirked. His wings were out, which was distracting, especially when Tony wasn't busy freaking out or trying to avoid being squished by angry not-gas temporary frenemies. They were so _big_. And unrealistic, the engineer-scientist in Tony's brain chimed in. Bruce was right. There was no _way_ those... gorgeous... things could work in Earth gravity. 

"Tony?" Steven prompted, and Tony realized with a blink that he'd been effectively staring at Steven's wings for a long and awkward moment - the things curled wide for a moment, as though curious, then folded back.

"Sorry. Uh. Different. How different?"

"There were very many more of us then." Steven sat down next to him on the rock, though at a careful heterosexual-manly distance, wingtips brushing the grass. "It was not so quiet."

"What the hell happened?" Tony asked, frowning. "I mean, I get casualties. I used to make weapons, and I wasn't totally blind about what they did, on... at least on a statistical level. But _everyone_?"

"The final battle was catastrophic. _All_ of you perished. Even you - your former self, that is. I managed to end it, but barely. The archangels were created to be reborn - we are woven into the cycle. The others were not." 

"Seems like Hell made out of it in better shape, since they still have demons to burn," Tony pointed out dryly, "Should I be freaking out?"

"God may have left us, but his Grand Design still turns the world," Steven said placidly. "Raziel and Uriel gravitated to SHIELD for good reason, all unknowing. They've been essential in earning SHIELD's trust and cooperation. Fury and his contacts have been key in helping us stem the tide. Before, there were few trained and organised pockets of powered humans. Now, there are many."

"Working with the X-men and the others, huh."

"Yes."

"They're not too popular right now. Kind of a pity. That red head that caused all that trouble over at San Francisco? She was _hot_." What was her name again? Jean Blue? Something like that. Tony hadn't even been in the country at that point in time, but he'd heard Pepper talking excitedly about it over the phone when he was busy trying to get roaring drunk in the Maldives with the Miss World contestants.

Steven's lips instantly thinned. "Perhaps."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Tony was startled into chuckling. "You can't be jealous over _that_. You'll be jealous over _everything_. Have you even tried googling me on the Internet?"

Big wings drooped lower onto the grass as Steven sighed. "Uriel asked me to, and as a matter of policy I tend to carefully regard Uriel's non-combat suggestions with great caution."

"Well, you should. It's not all true, but a lot of it is true." Tony had lost his sense of shame a very, very long time ago. In Pepper's opinion, he'd been born without it. " _I_ think it'll help."

"It's in the past, anyway," Steven muttered, so grumpily that Tony grinned, amused, because although jealousy wasn't new to him, it wasn't exactly common lately, thanks to his reputation, and maybe it was the craziness of his location or the nice not-sun in Eden, but Steven's possessiveness was rather more adorable-hilarious now than creepy. 

Besides. _Wings_. Huge, fluffy wings. They were definitely doing something to Operational-Tony's usually healthy sense of black cynicism. 

"Someone's confident."

"I'm not," Steven glanced down at his hands, fiddling with his big fingers. "I can't predict you. Sometimes it's frustrating, but I think it's really part of why I lo-" 

The kiss had started off as a quick peck, something to prevent the only slightly awkward tranquillity of the afternoon from becoming _very_ awkward, but Tony hadn't expected Steven to _moan_ like he was starting to drown and just lift and pull Tony into his lap as though Tony didn't weigh a thing, and fuck. Fuck. That was... definitely. Hot. Distracted by the manhandling, Tony let Steven lick into his mouth, and then it was wet and sloppy and he could feel Steven's lashes against his skin, flicking shut, a big warm hand going gently around the back of his neck, and he probably should be trying to pull back, not cupping Steven's cheeks with his palms and _groaning_. 

It was tender and filthy and shockingly intimate all at once, the way Tony was tugged flush against Steven's body and their tongues curled wet between them, the ragged breath Steven let out against his lip, the slight tremble to the rough fingers pressed near his pulse. Then Tony traced his fingers down, over the skittering pulse in Steven's neck to his broad, broad shoulders, heaving ribs and reached forward, curious, weaving fingertips into thick feathers, and Steven startled against him with a choked moan, tensing up.

"Mm," Tony grinned, petting down sleek feathers to their tips and back up, watching as Steven shivered and watched him with glazed pleasure, "This is another thing that I didn't want to know about angels."

"Really?" Steven's voice was breathy and thick, mouthing over Tony's jaw as Tony traced the ridges of the top tier of wings.

"Actually, no. Think of the fun that we'll have once I get mine," Tony drawled, and it was only when Steven leaned back, eyes widening, that Tony realized that he'd used ' _we_ ', in the plural, as if there was going to be a next time, as though things were _settled_. As he opened his mouth to clarify, Steven kissed him again, confident this time, rough, exactly the way Tony liked it, and it occurred to Tony that maybe, just maybe, having a lover who came package-wrapped with a firm knowledge of everything that Tony liked to do between the sheets was quite possibly the best thing _ever_. 

And then Steven was pulling back, with clear reluctance, mouthing down over his jaw and closing with a lingering suckle over his lower lip, big hands slipping down Tony's arms to his elbows, and belatedly, Tony realized that his palms were glowing again, steady and soft, curled over Steven's shoulders. He tried to will them to switch off, but Steven merely tugged one up to his lips, palm out, as though he didn't last see one of Tony's beams slice a lamp-post in half with an accidental gesture, and lapped up his skin from the base of his palm to the first knuckle, and _Gods_ , yes, _fuck_ -

Tony's phone blaring _Fight For Your Right_ made him jerk forward against Steven with a yelp, and he scrambled for it even as Steven settled his hands on his hips with a choked laugh. "Stark," he snapped, as he picked up, then, "What the fuck, so there _is_ reception in Eden?"

"You're in Eden?" Bruce sounded only endlessly intrigued. " _Really_? Can you get some samples-"

"Can this _wait_?" Steven's somehow gotten the fingers of Tony's free hand into his mouth, demonstrating a healthy oral fixation if Tony knew anything about it, and was leisurely sucking down one digit at a time, his gorgeous blue eyes fixed lazily on Tony, fuck. 

"Ehh," Bruce cleared his throat, "Just to let you know, your blood is technically human but not really, and also, Agent Coulson notes that Fury wants Michael to know that there's a lamia outbreak in Wisconsin. Um. Coulson gave me your number and asked me to call you guys. Sorry." 

Steven tensed, then he sighed. "Thank you, Ezekiel."

"What do you mean _technically human but not really_?" Tony growled. 

"Can I get samples first?" Bruce asked hopefully, demonstrating the fine scientific trait of utter bloody-mindedness, and Tony shook his head, hanging up. The phone call had broken up a fairly promising mood, nudging the awkwardness, the unsettling _weirdness_ of it all that Tony had felt about it all back into place, and he pulled himself off Steven's lap with a slow breath. 

"So," Tony started, because he was never one for avoiding problems from a sideways angle, not unless there was something promisingly explosive involved.

"So," Steven echoed, then he closed his eyes and adjusted his clothes, getting stiffly to his feet. The cut of his jacket managed to hide part of the noticeable tent in his pants, but it still made Tony feel like a bit of a dick.

Thankfully, or not, that wasn't new, at least. Not _new_ like this awkwardness was new, this unsettling vertigo; Tony was an old hand at the art of sudden flings and casual fucks, and this - this was almost like being a gawky virginal fifteen-year-old all over again, unsure of where he was standing or what to do with his hands, or what to _say_.

When Steven glanced at him again, though, it was with a wry smile, as though he was about to say something that he'd said before, years and years before and again, "This goes however you want it, Tony."

It was clearly rehearsed, and not entirely sincere - the wings had gone from flared to folded and drooping, and there was an open plea in Steven's eyes, but Tony swallowed a breath and managed a quick, breezy grin, thankful for the cue. "Doesn't everything? Let's go home. I've got DNA to check out and you've got some monsters to put down."

"Sure," Steven was visibly disappointed, if unsurprised, but he smoothed it away within his next breath. "All right."

XIV.

"I'm feeling let down," Clint told him, afterwards in one of the empty SHIELD rec rooms, when Tony had been banished out of the labs after Coulson had deemed him Close to Inciting Another Banner Incident, "Do you seriously go for base progression?"

"What?"

"Dates and shit, before sex. Because that's totally not what your rep is about, Stark." 

Tony scowled, and finished his beer. "Weren't we talking about the utter fucking disaster that is my DNA assessment?" He hadn't really wanted to think about the Eden Incident yet. Not at least until he'd worked his way through most of Clint's slab of beer.

"It's human, isn't it?"

"My DNA's human, but human _blood_ doesn't act that way, Clint." Tony wasn't a biology expert by any means, but the way the blood sample had _behaved_... self-repairing even hours after having been taken off Tony's arm - _God_. Bruce had been unable to hide a broad degree of avaricious glee. Tony had been torn between being awed and creeped out.

On the other hand, the non-human state of Tony's blood had only been discovered when Bruce had, out of some weird branch of nonlinear thinking, popped the slide under a microscope to examine cell structure. If the experts Stane employed stuck to TEMs, Tony would probably pass muster.

Yeah, right. And maybe there'd be world peace tomorrow.

"Oh, well," Clint shrugged, with the insouciance of a born science-null philistine, blithely ignoring Tony's growing scowl, "So. You and Michael."

"Me and Steve what?"

"In Eden? You guys seriously just looked at flowers for two hours?"

On the other hand, Tony reflected, Clint had shown an equal and total lack of interest in Eden once Tony had described it to him, and perhaps this character flaw thing wasn't unique to Tony's battered soul after all. "'Course not," Tony muttered, reaching for another beer, "Bruce interrupted." When Clint sat back with the beginnings of a smirk, Tony glowered at him. "Don't _you_ have to help put down whatever it is in Wisconsin?"

"Michael's enough for that," Clint drawled. "I'm on standby in case Denver gets too hot for the assigned Agents. Loups shouldn't be too tough. You guys getting serious? You and Michael?" 

Tony snorted. "What the fuck, Barton. Are we in grade school? 'Getting serious'?" 

"It's the end of the world, Tony. You want to try anything new, there's no time like now. Besides," Clint added, more conversationally, "Michael's been off his game since you came into the picture. I don't like it." 

"He was fine when we were taking down Angry Bruce."

"He's fine in _combat_ situations."

"And you think that if he gets his pipes cleaned he'll be less of a dick?"

"Works for me." Clint raised both his hands when Tony arched his eyebrows. "Also, it's kinda sad and pathetic to watch. Sort of like a train wreck full of kittens."

"Thanks for the input, Clint. I think."

"So. Your DNA thing," Clint continued, when Tony pointedly rolled his eyes, "I think you're going to be better off bitching to Bruce, because it's gonna go way over my head."

"I gathered." Tony had already come up with some idea about where to go next, at least - the beer had helped. He just needed to talk it over with Pepper and wait for Fury to fix the warrants. The matter of his blood's weird behavior was not optimal, but if he worked things carefully, it might not need to be. Relying on Fury to fix results was definitely not going to be the way to go. And besides, Tony had always preferred extravagant gestures.

"Now that we're over _that_ ," Clint added, eyeing Tony's palms, "How about we head down to the practice rooms and work on your aim?"

"These don't always work when I want them to," Tony pointedly prodded one of his currently inert and non-glowing palm.

"But you could at least learn to handle a gun," Clint stated, if illogically, "Salt and silver rounds work, if your hands ever go on the fritz where it counts."

"That's where you grunts come in, don't you?"

"Fury's hoping to split up the response teams soon, cover more ground. I know what he said to you that time," Clint continued quickly, when Tony opened his mouth, "But we really are all hands on deck. And that means that sooner or later, we're going to be assigned to stuff on our own, regardless of what the Director's said." 

Tony couldn't fault the logic, but that didn't mean that he liked it. An hour later, however, Clint was smirking, Tony's wrists ached from the recoil, and he was fairly sure that it was going to be easier to simply design some sort of gun that could auto target for Tony, run by JARVIS maybe, rather than to learn how to shoot all in an afternoon, when his palms abruptly grew warmer. 

Clint took a step back. "Okay. Maybe we should take this again from the top." 

"Something..." Something felt _off_ , the knowledge of it squirming in his gut, and Tony shuddered. "Something's wrong."

Clint was already pressing fingers to the comm device at his ear. "This is Hawkeye. Do we have a... Code Orange? Understood. Gabriel is... understood, sir." He dropped his hand, eyeing Tony uneasily for a moment before his expression smoothed into a blank Standard SHIELD Drone face. "Let's keep working on your aim."

"What's wrong, Barton? What happened?"

"It's classified."

"Fuck that," Tony snapped, "Is it Bruce? JARVIS, patch us in to the labs, project the imaging from the feeds." 

"Stark-"

"Very well, sir," JARVIS' modulated tone cut through Clint's protest, as tinny as it sounded from Tony's wrist strap, and the wall facing Tony flickered for a moment before JARVIS projected the security feed from Bruce's lab onto it. It was empty, but at least it wasn't destroyed.

"Man," Clint shook his head, staring at the feed, "Fury's going to have the balls of our security team for lunch, at this rate." 

Tony ignored him. "Check the other labs, JARVIS." 

The next two labs were empty, and then JARVIS patched into Medical, and- _God_ \- and that was Steven, right there, jerking and writhing on a hastily moved operating table, other gurneys and benches shoved up under his wings, Bruce pulling an oxygen mask over his face as other whitecoats strapped down straining arms. And of the six beautiful wings that Tony had admired only a few hours ago, the left middle and lowest tier wings were bloody, charred fingers, and through the roar of noise in Tony's ears he could dimly hear Clint making a gagging, choked sound of horror.

Worst of all, Tony could recognise the blast pattern, the concentric spatter of shrapnel that had embedded themselves into Steven's flank and arm, like crescents fanning outwards from a circular core.

After all, he'd made the weapon that had done it himself, only a year ago.

XV.

JARVIS had locked down the Malibu house, which seemed to have deterred Stane and/or the authorities from breaking in. As far as Tony could tell, running a palm over the back of one of the ergonomic lobby couches, everything was still in place.

"The warrant's been withdrawn," Pepper trailed him, clipboard in hand, while Happy had gone to make a routine check on the rest of the rooms, just in case. "But we're really not supposed to be here."

"I just need to pick up some stuff from my lab, Pep." And maybe some of his antique Macallan collection. Tony exhaled, mentally shaking himself. Getting drunk on excellent whisky was not going to solve any problems, however tempting the thought was, and within his hastily tugged on gauntlets, his palm still glowed. The hydraulics still needed extensive tooling to preserve dexterity. "Then we'll head back to the Triskelion."

"Okay, Tony," Pepper noted, then Tony nearly jumped when she touched his elbow carefully. "Tony, did something happen?"

"We..." Tony trailed off, because how _was_ he going to make this right? Ordinance like the compact TK III series was outlawed for civilian use in the United States, but that wasn't going to deter demons, presumably. 

He had _made_ that thing. Accurate within a hundred feet, he'd proudly told the board, at that time. God. Steven probably hadn't even seen it coming. 

Clutching at the couch, Tony took a deep breath, and let it hiss out, rubbing at his face with his free hand. "Someone hit Steve with one of the TK IIIs."

Pepper straightened up, paling. "Is he... did he..."

"He didn't die. Fuck, at least he didn't die. But it looks pretty bad, Pep," Tony swallowed. "Apparently we heal fast, and Bruce seemed confident, but... it was bad." 

"Tony, I..." Pepper exhaled. "All right. All the smart weapons that we've made in the last five years have all been microchipped and individually stamped. If JARVIS could pull footage from... from wherever Steve was, or if anything on the shrapnel's survived, we could probably bring up a paper trail." 

"We did?"

Pepper managed a quick grin that faded into a wan one. "That's how QC works, Tony. But what are you going to do, even if we manage to trace it? They can hurt you, Tony, God, you could end up _killed_. I don't think - Tony, I really don't think that you should do this."

"Hey, hey," Tony patted Pepper's shoulder awkwardly, thoroughly uncomfortable now. "I'll be fine. I mean, I've faced demons. A demon. And terrorists who had my weapons. This is kinda a crazy combination of the two, right? This is something that I can deal with. Something that I can make better." 

"I suppose so," Pepper said, if doubtfully, then she squared her shoulders and took in a harsh breath. "Also, White and Case are going to take on your matter, I've spoken to them. Link them up with SHIELD and they can probably handle things from there."

"We don't need to go to court, I'm not going to fight it."

"What? Why not?" 

"Didn't you say that everything's been microchipped?" Tony smirked. "I have a Plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. :) School's out (for summer!) I should be able to catch up on everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting with Lucifer doesn't involve fire and brimstone. Tony's possibly disappointed.

XVI.

Meeting Lucifer, as Tony would later tell Bruce, was kind of a letdown. At least at first.

Tony had been in the SHIELD lab allocated for his use, trying to mock up a device to disrupt the frequencies used by his own weapons, when he'd looked up to see a tall man leaning against one of the empty workbenches, arms folded. The man had long, straight black hair to his shoulders, framing a thin, pale ascetic face with high cheekbones and sharp, cold blue eyes; he was dressed in a charcoal greatcoat with a lime green scarf, far too fashionable to be a SHIELD drone.

Tony's hands were warming up, but even if they weren't, he wasn't stupid by any means. "Illusion or hologram?" he started off by asking, and Lucifer - who the hell else could it be - smiled, as sharp and cold as his eyes. 

"Very good, Gabriel. Illusion. Just as before," Lucifer noted, his tone clipped and precise, "You _are_ truly the only other angel worth talking to."

"I didn't think that all the seals had given," Tony said, as conversationally as he could, keeping his hands loose at his sides. If it was just an illusion, then Tony hoped that Fury and his cronies would butt out and let him handle it. Tony had handled corporate life in America for most of his existence, after all, despite Pepper's opinion to the contrary. He could negotiate. 

"They haven't." Lucifer pointedly pushed a palm briefly through the workbench. "I am still... somewhat inconvenienced."

"So," Tony drawled, "How's life in Hell? Toasty?"

"I am not bound in Hell," Lucifer corrected, though he seemed amused again. "Dear Gabriel. Has Michael kept all his cards close to his chest again?"

"You could say that in fact that he's been happy to overshare."

"Oh, I wasn't referring to his tedious obsession with you," Lucifer lifted a shoulder into a graceful shrug. "Hasn't he given you the summary of how matters were to proceed?"

"I gather it's in the magic book? Four Horsemen? The beast from the sea?" Tony had done a quick run through of Wikipedia's version of Revelation, to show willing. "I'm a hundred per cent OK with some dragonslaying, but I'll prefer to pass on the locusts and rivers of blood, if that's fine with you."

Lucifer smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I _have_ missed you, Gabriel."

"Didn't seem to stop you from murdering me the last time." 

"Was that what Michael told you?" Lucifer sniffed. "Such an... oversimplification, by any measure."

"Guess once my memory catches up with me, we can compare notes."

Tony wasn't expecting Lucifer to chuckle, low and soft. "So many centuries," he mused, "And Michael has not _learned_. You won't remember," he raised his voice a fraction, "Not the way that you think that you will, not the way Michael or I do. Your soul, yours, Ezekiel's, the others - all that you will remember are your functions. After all, whenever you're reborn, you're all wiped clean."

There's regret in there, and an edge of something far more than hatred and resentment, something boiled down and turned flint hard with the compression of time; there was malice in Lucifer's cold eyes, now and the flat curl of his mouth, and Tony hadn't realized that he'd shifted back, feet flat on the ground, battle-ready, until Lucifer's mouth tipped further. Taking out a deep breath, Tony forced himself to relax, folding his arms. "Apparently we wake up."

"Oh, yes. The wings, full functionality, the works," Lucifer lifted a shoulder again, more fractionally, this time. "But not the memories. And you'll be thankful for that, or you should be. The old memories are useless to you, and you'll not enjoy knowing all the ways that you've died before."

Tony shuddered. He had a pretty active imagination. "That bad?"

"You're not immortal, Gabriel, not like this. Not like Michael."

"Wait," Tony frowned, and added, "Michael said that he's in an avatar. Some human called Steven."

"Michael is in an avatar, but not one as ours. And he has many names, as do I myself - Hades, Shaitan, Loki - are but a few." Lucifer gestured at himself, "Even as your avatars are fragile and age, his remains as eternal as the cycle itself. He is, after all, the Prince," Lucifer's lip curled again, sarcastic, "While I must forge my own, each time the cycle renews itself." 

"You'll think that people would notice a set repeat of fire and brimstone every couple of thousand years."

"The cycles are trigged by a specific act, Gabriel. The first seal on my cage must be sundered. That feeds your souls back into the cycle, to be reborn again in mortal vessels."

"So this could all have been avoided if we'd hung up a 'Do Not Fucking Touch This' sign somewhere out there?" Knowing humanity's endless curiosity, though, that wouldn't work: someday, if people found the Socket that Powered the Universe, some idiot would probably stick his/her fingers into it.

"Michael breaks the first seal, Gabriel," Lucifer's tone is wry now, almost pityingly, "He always does. Sooner or later, decades or centuries after your avatar's dust in the wind, when he can't bear being without you. He breaks the seal so that he can see you again. Whatever the cost."

"And to think we were getting along _so_ well until this point, Lucy," Tony said mildly, "I think I'll have had to be pretty drunk to swallow _that_ whopper. Haven't you _met_ Michael? He's the most uptight, by the books-"

"I'm called the Prince of Lies," Lucifer interrupted, though his eyes narrowed slightly, dangerously, "But I've always found truth to be a far more vicious blade. Believe what you want, but think: who else in existence at that point would have the knowledge and the means? Ask Michael himself." There was a pause, then another smirk. "When he recovers."

"Where's Ramiel?" Tony asked bluntly, because this was becoming a little less fun than he'd thought; a sour feeling was curling in his gut, whispered through with a memory of Clint's dry, _Michael's been off his game_ , Steven's raw smile and the hungry press of his mouth.

It _was_ possible. Wasn't it?

When Lucifer stiffened, Tony added, "Heard you guys are close. You _could_ knock off this end of the world plan. Haven't you lost each time round? Maybe you should chill out. Play nice for a bit, and maybe we could give you a bit of parole. You could lie on a beach. Get a tan. Take whoever Ramiel is this time round out on a date, something with a bit of jazz and no hellfire and brimstone."

Lucifer snorted, though there was an angry cast to his pale face now, a stillness reminiscent of a viper waiting to strike. "Things are... a little different this time round. I have different allies. Technology has proved... useful," Lucifer stressed the word lightly, with a knowing glance at Tony that made his fists twitch, "And most importantly," he added, and his smile now bared a white crescent of teeth, "This time, I have found Ramiel first. Five years ago, to be exact. And I think that it's time that he awakened as well."

"What-" Tony began, then he flinched back as Lucifer strode forward, grasping his shoulder-

-and they were abruptly suspended beside Stark Tower, next to the brilliant signage, the darkening afternoon sky shorn at its hem by the Manhattan skyline, the drop beneath his dangling feet a study in sickening vertigo. 

Tony forced his eyes up, trying to keep his voice steady. "Nifty trick."

"I am not without my powers, even inhibited as I am now," Lucifer purred. "Wake up if you can, Gabriel. It'll give Ramiel the push that he needs." 

"I'm really not one for drastic gestures," Tony said tightly, but Lucifer smirked and let go of him and he's dropping like a stone, wind tearing at his shirt and jeans, gouging at his cheeks and Tony could see snatches of horrified faces from Stark Tower as he plunged past, trying to will himself to move, wings, _anything_ -

-and it's so, so fucking _stupid_ , Tony thought savagely, dying this way, stupid and _unnecessary_ and he wanted to survive this, kick Stane's ass, Lucifer's, and the fucker who shot the TK III at Steven, and there was, abruptly, a growing pressure at his back, and God, it _hurt_ , like he was being broken open, torn up, _fuck_ , the ground's so much _closer_ and - and - there were wings. Wings. Wine-red, almost black, and he was slowing down but the ground's still way too close - he needed to _move_ , somewhere else, safe-

The ground faded away in a blur, and then Tony was falling again, with a yelp, flailing, and does a five point landing face-first on a smooth floor that smelled of disinfectant. He scrambled to his feet, and yelped again when he barked a wing against something that crashed down, glass shattering, Bruce looked frozen over at a corner in the middle of drawing fluid into a syringe, and after a moment, the sliding doors hiss open, and Agent Coulson stepped in, sidearm cocked and drawn. 

"Um," Tony tried, disoriented and nauseous, glancing around - he's in the infirmary again, and that's... that's Steven, unconscious on the bed still, wings tucked away, bandaged up. "I need a really, really strong drink."

"Congratulations," Coulson offered neutrally, with a glance at Tony's wings, and he folded them up behind his back instinctively, without even thinking about it. His shirt's ruined, tatters hanging off pinions, and he has three sets of the clunky bastards, just like Steven. The lowest tier of wings flared a little as he dragged his eyes back to the unmoving figure on the bed, and winced as something else bounced off the shelf behind him. 

He didn't _feel_ different. 

"Holy fuck," Tony muttered, as he cautiously stretched out the middle tier wings, touching the edges of the rooms with their tips, and the muscle memory of how to use them was just _there_ , as though it'd never gone away. By way of experiment, Tony turned up his hand, palm up, and as he watched, his skin glowed for a moment as he willed it, then winked off. 

Full functionality.

No extra memories. Tony grit his teeth, and swallowed another breath. He was going to have to... he was going to have to think. 

"Something bad happened?" Bruce hazarded, his eyes darting between Tony's expression and his wings, as though he wasn't sure whether to find Tony a drink or manhandle him through an x-ray. 

"Could say that." Tony folded the wings back, further, until he felt something slide, lock back, and then the weight of them on his back was gone, and... yeah, that? That was _awesome_. Even if the sensation that he was standing on quicksand hadn't yet gone away.

If he'd known that all his weird not-human biology needed was a high jump off a building, Tony would probably have tried it earlier. 

"Speak to the Director," Coulson decided, slipping the gun back under his suit, and then, notching himself up a few scales on Tony's regard, added, "I'll get you that drink, Mister Stark."

XVII.

When Bruce put the call through to the lab, Tony had just figured out how to unfurl his wings without ripping up a few hundred dollars' worth of bespoke fabric, and had already made a quick trip back to the Malibu house to pick up more supplies. This time, the jump to the infirmary was a lot more sedate, and Tony was feeling fairly proud of himself, at least up until he caught the look on Steven's face.

There was that open admiration there, sure, but also a tense resignation once Tony made his wings disappear, and Steven clenched his hands briefly into the sheets before glancing over at Bruce. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Thirty hours." 

"The township?"

"Um." Bruce looked confused, but beside him, Coulson nodded. "Safe. The seal's intact, as well."

"Good." Steven flexed his fingers, then he closed his eyes and drew a breath. The shadow flow was slower, this time, and Tony had braced himself for the worst, but the two charred wings had already fleshed over, if in an ugly, unhealthy pink, growing downy at the tips. Steven touched his fingers to the larger wing, and the pink grew lighter, paler, even as feathers pushed themselves out from the tips and spread upwards, like a weird sort of fast-forwarded stop motion.

It only took a minute or so before the wing looked as though it had never been damaged, but Steven was pale and shaking, slumping back against the pillows with a harsh breath. "Damage to the extensions of our grace requires the most energy to fix," he explained to Bruce, in between shallow gasps. 

"That was... creepy and cool." Tony decided, fascinated, before mentally kicking himself. Seriously, Steven's wings were something else, even now, when Tony himself had a decidedly handsome set coming off his own back. "Steve, I need to talk to you."

Steven stared at him for a moment, then he dipped his head. "Ezekiel. Coulson." 

"JARVIS, fix the security feed," Tony instructed, and tugged a chair over with his foot, turning it around and slouching onto it, leaning his arms over the backrest once the others left the room. "Firstly, I want to know. Does Lucifer always kick start the last leg of my 'awakening'?"

"Mostly." Steven admitted easily enough. "He'll... try to incapacitate me first." 

Tony tried not to stare at the third wing, that was still lifted carefully off the bed, cocooned by the upper tier wings. "I don't know if they told you what hit you."

"Human technology. A rocket?"

"Smart targeting, compact carry, accurate within a hundred feet with about a leeway of fifteen inches, brittle shrapnel cone." Tony exhaled. "I built it last year. I have this friend, Rhodey, he's in the army, he was joking around with me on my birthday, said that the only thing cooler than a rocket launcher would be one that didn't look like you unscrewed a pipe and added a trigger to it, plus homing missiles, and... and I built it in a couple of weeks, just... just because I could. US Army snapped up the contract." 

Steven sighed. "Gab... Tony-"

"I know, it's not my fault, the gunmaker doesn't control the gun, blah, but I'm going to try to. I'll find a way. That's the first thing," Tony added, as Steven nodded slowly. "Secondly. Is Lucifer usually such an asshole? I mean, it comes with the propaganda, fire and brimstone and horns, but really, he's a _major_ asshole."

"He was different once." Steven glanced down at his lap briefly, then he added, more quietly, "The two of you were good friends, before his Fall." 

"I don't think he's getting a Christmas card from me after what he just did," Tony drawled, "If it's all the same to you."

"Noted," Steven smiled, wan and tentative.

"And, uh," Tony took another breath, thoroughly unsettled now by Steven's attitude, about to ask Steven about the beginning, about the first seal, but said, instead, "Ramiel. What's he like?" Fuck.

Steven watched him uncertainly, as though that hadn't been what he had expected to hear, either. "Brash. Honest. Quick to trust, quick to anger, but very good natured."

"And his thing with Lucifer? Do they fuck?" 

Steven winced, but he nodded slowly. "Sometimes. Lucifer is drawn to Ramiel because Ramiel is the most elemental of the archangels, the most... uncomplicated." 

"So it's not a good thing that Lucifer already found Ramiel's vessel five years ago? Or that's what he claims," Tony added, when Steven sat up sharply. 

"What? How did he... he told you that?"

"Yep. Among other things." 

"But five years ago... his level of strength... he would only have been able to dreamwalk," Steven muttered, wings flaring slightly. "I need to speak to Fury."

"Slow down." Tony hadn't meant for it to come out as a growl, but Steven's gaze snapped back to him, and then he relaxed, if grudgingly. "Apparently when I get my wings, Ramiel wakes up? Clint and Natasha are on the case."

"Ramiel must be found. Five _years_... Lord knows what Lucifer may have already done to him." 

"Gotten him to switch sides, maybe?" Tony noted idly, and Steven straightened up, if with another wince. "Is that possible?"

"It's... possible." 

"Happened before?"

"No. This is unprecedented. We've never... I've never heard of anyone being able to find a vessel before an awakening."

"So. This is a train wreck." Tony personally had no compunctions about blasting anything in the face with his newfound abilities if it came at him at throat level, 'brother' or not, but Steven already looked so unhappy at the news that he surprised himself by swallowing his comment. "What can Ramiel do? What's his specialty?"

"Elemental control. Lightning, storms, wind." Definitely not good. Steven sighed again. "I need to speak to Fury." 

"Isn't it possible that Lucifer was lying?" 

"To him? Truth is the more vicious blade," Steven noted, almost absently, then he frowned when Tony sat up at the echo of Lucifer's very words. "Tony? What else did he say to you?"

"Him?" _He said that you started it. That you always do._ The words balanced on the tip of Tony's tongue, then he swallowed them again, hating himself a little. He'd never had any problems with speaking his mind before, but now, something was holding him back, giving him second thoughts. He'll need to think things over. Maybe keep his distance for a while. "Nothing. Usual male posturing. Go have your chat with Angry Morpheus." 

"All right," Steven examined his last, damaged wing, touched his hand to it, then seemed to think better about it and folded them away, instead. "Call Fury for me, please." He reached over absently, as Tony got off the chair and circled around, then dropped his hand when Tony stepped away and out of range. "Tony..."

Looking at Steven's uncertain, hurt stare, Tony nearly relented, but hardened his heart instead. _Truth is the more vicious blade_. "I'll get Fury."

XVIII.

**THE STARK TRUTH**  
by Helen Marra, for CNN  
October 23, 2012 - Updated 1100 GMT

 **(CNN)** \-- BREAKING NEWS -- In a press conference this morning, Tony Stark, previously of Stark Industries, announced the launch of a new company, funded through the popular crowd-funding site Kickstarter. 

Named 'Stark Resilient', the company intends to "privatise world peace as we know it", claimed Mr. Stark during his press conference, and put forward a broad series of security innovations aiming to create readily defensive structures that would make existing smart weaponry systems obsolete. Powered by new forms of yet-to-be-released mobile alternative energy generators, Stark Resilient's products are still in the blueprint stage, although Mr. Stark has told his investors to "look forward" to a "public demonstration" within the next month. 

Mr. Stark also took the chance to formally debut a prototype peacekeeping weapon that fires concussive blasts, which he named a "repulsor", wearing red and gold gauntlets over his hands to his arms. Mr. Stark admitted that a previous test of an earlier prototype on behalf of a peacekeeping organisation had gone awry in Brooklyn, and in response to questions about whether he was manufacturing weapons again despite his statement earlier this month, added that "these babies are for peacekeeping purposes, their final form will be non-lethal, and they will not be made commercially available." 

Following Mr. Stark's celebrity and known genius for innovation, the public response has been overwhelming. Stark Resilient met and exceeded its goal of $10 million within the hour, and donations continued to pour in, briefly bringing down the Kickstarter website. High profile friends of Mr. Stark, including celebrities such as Angelina Jolie and Lady Gaga, have played an active role on twitter in spreading his cause to their followers as well as in providing substantial contributions to his cause. 

Mr. Stark also responded to questions about his recent legal troubles and ouster from Stark Industries with his usual sharp wit, nothing that "old men waiting for their golden handshakes in a boardroom" were not traditional proponents of change, that he had always "found character assassination amusing", and that "if you can't beat them, make a new company and try the [expletive] again." Mr. Stark also continued to invite all existing employees of Stark Industries to "stand on the right side of me, by which I mean history" and announced that negotiations had commenced with regards to a lease in the One World Trade Centre "once we get them to agree to our water feature - I mean giant indoor pool", which is slated to be completed in 2013. 

The abrupt change in Mr. Stark's lifestyle and philosophy has been widely attributed to his recent captivity in the hands of Taliban militants in the Hindu Kush mountains...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good god, I'm so long winded.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramiel is kind of like a puppy. A big, blonde, destructive puppy.

XIX.

Tony was in the middle of firing a (purloined) TK III at prototype shielding when _Fight For Your Right_ started to rattle out under a stack of rejected sketches; he sighed, handed the weapon to one of the SHIELD whitecoats, and nudged the pile around until he found his phone.

"Tony Stark."

"There's a situation in Maine, Mister Stark," Coulson said, in a clipped tone. "Michael and Agent Romanov are otherwise occupied. Our perimeter alarm for the seal has been tripped. I've sent you an image of the containment area. The seal is in the altar." 

"I thought that your boss benched me. Something about a loose cannon?"

"The lives of six good men are on the line, Mister Stark," Coulson noted, in the same, flatly neutral tone. "Thank you for your _kind_ contribution."

Dickwad. 

"I've never made a blind jump before."

"Always a first time, sir." 

Asshole. "If I teleport myself into three feet of concrete and die, I'm going to come back and haunt your ass." Tony hung up, pulled up the photo, hesitated, tugged on his retooled gauntlets, and took a deep breath. 

Despite his reservations, Tony reappeared more or less where he wanted - off to the side of the dusty pulpit in the abandoned church, only wobbling a little, wings flaring to correct his balance. Peeling gray wallpaper, rotting velvet drapes, rusty crucifix over the altar, check. 

Everything else - roughly atomised. 

The altar - the seal - had been sundered, fragments of stone and dust scattered over the platform under Tony's feet; boarded up windows were shattered, glass and wooden splinters littering the ground, and most of the benches had also been torn up, as though a wild wind had dragged them up and smashed them against the far wall. Tony grit his teeth, glancing between the bodies of the SHIELD team scattered in the room, to the archangel seated on the one remaining bench near the end of the church hall.

Ramiel's wings were stormcloud gray, his halo the only light in the hall that wasn't filtered from street lamps on the outside. He had an oddly shaped hammer in his right hand, with a dense head and a short handle, and he was dressed as though he'd just walked off some sort of bad stage play, in steel and leather and a red fucking _cloak_ , of all things. He was tall, young, broad-shouldered, blonde and gorgeous, and he grinned at Tony with a surprising lack of violence, playful, almost puppy-like. 

"Gabriel," Ramiel said affectionately, his voice a low rumble, and outside, Tony could hear a soft echo of a storm. 

Tony tried his phone, but it showed only static on the screen, and he sighed, tucking it back into his pocket. "That was a prototype, and I was getting fond of it."

"My apologies," Ramiel offered, though he grinned again as he rolled lightly to his feet, wings spreading behind him for balance as he hefted his hammer. 

"If you know who I am, then you know that I'm one of the good guys, right?" Tony said hopefully, even as his palms warmed up. "You've fallen off onto the wrong side of the fence."

"'Good' is a matter of opinion. I know whose side I'm on," Ramiel began to spin his hammer in a lazy arc, and Tony stiffened as he scented ozone, the wind picking up out of nowhere at all, "And it isn't yours." 

"I'll really prefer to talk this over," Tony tried again, "You do know that your loverboy is Lucifer, right? That he's the cause of the world possibly getting shitcanned?" 

"Is he truly the cause?" Ramiel asked mildly, though he didn't take a further step, "What do you know about the state of affairs, Gabriel, other than rumour and hearsay?"

"Well," Tony noted dryly, "A demon tried to chew my face off?"

"And you are so sure that it hails from Lucifer?"

Point. "The bit where Lucifer dropped me from about a thousand feet up might have been persuasive."

"You survived it," Ramiel shrugged, shifting his weight.

"Sorry, but the murder victim surviving the murder attempt doesn't usually absolve the murderer. Look, kid," Tony tried to make his voice kinder, "Let's just head back, all right? I'll introduce you to the others, you can take a look around, and then if you still don't like us, we can take it from the top." 

Ramiel hesitated, the whirl of his hammer slowing a fraction, clearly curious, and Tony pressed his advantage. "We can kick back with a beer, maybe take a second look at everything. I agree, nothing's been a hundred per cent clear about this shitstorm, and I do want some answers too. So, uh, let's calm down, and nobody has to get hurt."

Ramiel's hammer had been slowing down up till that point - he drawled, "Nobody has to get hurt?"

"You have no idea how much trouble I got into the last time for firing on Ezekiel, and he'd been trying to squish me into pavement jam at that point."

"Hmm," Ramiel looked him up and down insolently, then he grinned again, "Try me, old man."

Deep breaths, Tony. "Look-"

"Scared?"

"Kid," Tony growled, because that was the extent of his patience, and if he was going to wreck things diplomatically then he might as well do it in a brilliantly spectacular fashion, "You can go back with me and have a beer, nicely, or I can kick your ass and drag you home and pour it down your throat." 

"Try me," Ramiel repeated, and threw the hammer, and it was only pure reflex that had Tony throw up his palms; the concussive blast deflected the weapon, cracking the wall just behind Tony with a tremor and a _boom_ that shook Tony to his bones. 

"All right," Tony was surprised that his voice was steady, seeing as the fucking hunk of metal had still passed close enough to his face for Tony to feel the wind from its wake, "Nice try, but you missed. Happy now?" 

"Not yet, old man." As Ramiel raised his palm, the hammer returned to his grip in a whir.

Well then. This was going to be self-defence, right?

"I fucking hate magic," Tony muttered, and winked out of sight. He reappeared to Ramiel's flank, and as the other angel turned, let loose with a blast from both palms, aiming at the armor and hoping that all the practice sessions fine tuning the power of the blasts held up-

The bolt punched Ramiel through the wall and into the field beyond it, and Tony winced as the other archangel ploughed a furrow into the grass, wings flailing awkwardly even as the sky above them rumbled more loudly. "Fuck, I'm sorry, are you all right?"

"A good shot!" Ramiel was - incredibly - picking himself up, and although his armor was heavily scorched, it was intact, and the fucking kid was _laughing_ , rich and loud, as though they were _playing_ , and Tony had to take himself hastily out into the field as Ramiel raised his hammer again, smashing a hole through brick and woodwork to the space where Tony had been standing. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Tony growled, slightly pissed now, as the hammer returned to its owner. 

"Worry about yourself, old man," Ramiel drawled, making a gesture, and lightning forked down from the sky, blindingly bright, only to earth itself in Tony's hastily upraised gauntlets, crackling and almost overloading the installed power cores, humming with energy. At Ramiel's blink, Tony smirked. 

"Did you really think that I would be unprepared? I started on these the day I heard that fighting you might be a possibility." 

The supercharged bolt slammed into Ramiel's chest, crunching him into the thick oak behind him, knocking the breath out of the archangel and making him slump to his knees, but as Tony stepped forward, Ramiel growled and smashed the hammer onto the ground, bucking it outwards in a moaning _roar_ like a localised earthquake, rippling the earth as though it was water, unbelievably, and Tony yelped as he lost his footing, flailing, then it was his turn to let out a cry of pain as the hammer punched into his ribs with a wet crack, knocking him to the ground. Scrambling up, gritting his teeth, he was just in time to see Ramiel's incoming fist, snapping his head sideways, wings heaving as he staggered back, snarling, the word that had immolated the demon that had once nearly killed him just on the tip of his tongue-

A leather-clad hand clapped tight over his mouth, even as Steven raised his shield, grunting under the impact as the hammer sang against it in a heavy ring of metal. Ramiel backed off to a respectful distance, glancing at Steven's fully healed wings, then between them, and cautiously, Steven lowered his shield, dropping his hand.

"Ramiel."

"Michael." 

"Stop this, Ramiel. You have been misled. You belong with us."

"Perhaps, if you'll tell the others how the apocalypse started." 

Steven stiffened, his hands clenching. "When the first seal breaks."

"And who breaks the first seal each time, Michael?" 

"The first seal breaks when the cycle needs to begin anew. That is God's design."

"God's design, or yours?" Ramiel shot back, even as Tony sucked in a pained breath, tensing up. Steven abruptly seemed to remember that he was there, looking back over at Tony, his expression startled for a moment before it twisted, then smoothed back to calm as he glanced back to Ramiel, squaring his shoulders. 

"God's design, Ramiel."

"You do not seem certain," Ramiel said, and the pity in his eyes was worse than his accusation, somehow; Tony could see Steven grow pale, his wings arching, defensive. "Gabriel, I must leave. It was good to see you, I think," he added, a little more slowly. "Good to spar. Perhaps we can speak again another day." 

With that, Ramiel vanished, even as Steven snapped, " _Wait_ -" 

"He calls this _sparring_?" Tony groused, even as Steven sighed and reached over to touch his shoulder, causing his ribs to knit, the pain fading. 

"Usually, more property damage is involved," Steven muttered, with a glance around them, at the sundered ground and the wrecked church. "The two of you have never understood the meaning of 'going easy'."

"Maybe we wouldn't _have_ to, if the fire and brimstone shtick didn't have to start in the first place," Tony retorted, his tone containing a lot more venom than he'd meant to, still high from adrenaline, and Steven visibly flinched as though Tony had struck him. 

"Tony-" he began, then he frowned. "Did Lucifer mention this to you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You mean, why didn't I ask you to your face whether you'd kick-started the fucking _apocalypse_? Truth is a more vicious blade, eh?"

"Lucifer never tells _all_ of a truth," Steven snapped back, though his wings remained hunched, defensive, "Only enough to shape it for his own means!"

"So are you the one who starts this all off, or not?"

Steven sucked in a thick, unsteady breath, and then he exhaled, all in a rush, looking wrecked. "Yes, but-"

"So," Tony interrupted, and he was calmer about this than he'd imagined, really, in the twenty or so scenarios that his brain had come up with - nothing was even on fire yet, "God's design, huh? What, you flick the switch when the moon's aligned? When some sheep gives birth to a lamb with seven horns?" 

"Tony, listen-"

"And did you think that maybe, just maybe, you could look the other way instead? How many people have died each time from the cycle, huh? I saw some of the earlier reports from SHIELD about the seals that got broken - seriously, an entire town, crucified?"

"Do you think that I'm _happy_ about my function?" Steven snapped, "Do you know what my true name _means_? I was made to challenge humanity to seek God, to question faith. Revelation represents the end of that challenge and the start of it anew. Each time a cycle ends, I was made to restart it after a period of fallow. My personal opinions don't matter. We're angels, Gabriel, soldiers of God - we're not _human_. We were made with _functions_ that we have to fulfil."

"And what's my function?" Tony demanded, narrowing his eyes. 

"You're..." Steven hesitated, then he sighed. "You're the messenger. The 'man of God'."

"So I'm meant to spread the Word?" 

"In essence-"

"Then I'm telling you," Tony growled, "That whatever your reasons are, whether Lucifer's right, or whether you really believe in your fucked up logic, you're wrong, and you've been wrong each time round, and after we kick his ass this time, you're going to walk away from the apocalypse switch and never, ever, go near it again."

Steven seemed resigned, but he didn't drop his eyes. "Are you suggesting that you're always right, Tony?" 

"Well, no, but-" 

"God has been gone a long time, Gabriel," Steven said wearily, "You can't carry His Word any longer, because He isn't there; you only have the memories of what He has said before. Of all of us, you are closest to humanity, because your function is past. And you have no idea," Steven added flatly, when Tony opened his mouth, "How much I envy you." 

"If you start up a cycle, why do you try to stop it, then? Seems like a waste of effort." 

"I'm compelled to start it. I'm also compelled to end it. I have no discretion on the former. I do have a far broader discretion on determining how it ends." Steven gestured at the broken earth beside them. "The earlier that it does, the fewer the casualties."

"Does Fury know?" 

"Fury knows."

That explained the total lack of surprise when Tony had told the Director and Coulson about the Lucifer encounter, anyway. Bastards. "And you couldn't have, maybe, _told_ me about this earlier?"

"How was I supposed to? Besides, I did try that, two cycles ago," Steven stared at him unhappily, "It created a rift from the very beginning between us that never healed. You looked at me as though I was an enemy. I didn't want that to happen again. Each time round, when the cycle ends, when you pass on, I can't put into words how much I miss you. Being able to see you again - and the others - is the only silver lining to the execution of my primary function."

_When he can't bear being without you_. Tony's lip curled. "Enough for you to ignore all the blood on your hands?"

"I've already told you," Steven said wearily, "I can't change my duty." 

"And does this divine script run the same way each time?"

"There are always circumstances."

"Seems to _me_ ," Tony stated flatly, "That things aren't set in stone. Ramiel switching sides - that's off-script, isn't it?" 

"What do you want me to say, Tony?" Steven growled, his wings flaring aggressively, finally reaching the broad tip of his patience, "Why is this always so difficult? I've told you that I have _no choice_ on how this begins. Do you think that I'm happy about that? No!"

"And if you were free," Tony countered, because he was always for poking at scabs, even when he knew it was going to explode spectacularly, "If you weren't bound to restart the cycle, would you?" 

"That won't-"

"Humour me."

Steven stared at him, hopelessly, then a shudder went through his wings. "I don't know," he said finally, in a dull tone, ducking his head. "I've never thought about the possibility." 

"Shouldn't that be an easy yes/no answer?" Tony pointed out flatly. 

"Tony... I'm fond of humanity. I try to preserve them, at least as far as it fits into my primary function," Steven noted hesitantly. "Outside of a cycle, by myself, it's lonely. Being able to see you and the rest again, for however short a time... I've always felt that it was - God isn't cruel, you see. I felt that he'd simply built a reward into an otherwise endless and thankless function." 

"So you're kinda like one of those lab rats, pushing a button to get a pellet."

Steven frowned for a moment, as though trying to parse the reference, then he exhaled. "More like one programmed to press the button, regardless of whether there's a pellet. After all," he added wryly, "More often than not, I just get savaged by my 'reward'."

There was definitely regret and something raw and heartbreaking in how Steven watched him, wistful, as though he was certain that he had thoroughly fucked things over this time round and had resigned himself to having to wait for yet another set of centuries until he started the whole goddamned mess, again, to meet Gabriel Version 5.0 or whatever it was and try again. Despite the opinion of the tabloids, Tony wasn't heartless by any means; he shivered, wetting his lips, fighting the brief urge to wrap his wings over his own shoulders. 

Clenching his gauntleted fists, he padded over to Steven, whose wings flared briefly, curious, before clipping tight over his shoulders, wary, as though he was expecting Tony to just walk into punching range and let loose, then he blinked rapidly instead as Tony walked all the way into his personal space and pressed charred metal fingers carefully over his cheeks, tugging him down. The kiss was breathless and fumbled, and Steven's hands shook as they wrapped over Tony's waist, making a visceral sound as he crushed Tony against him, and this was _good_ , somehow, even sloppy as it was, then Steven _moaned_ , shuddering and tight, curling one hand in Tony's hair and the other in the thick mass of feathers over the root of wing muscle and that was better, much better, pleasure bright in his mind and in the hammering thud of Steven's heart, pressed high against his chest. 

When they broke, Steven was wearing an expression of utter bewilderment, his smile wavering, as though he wasn't sure whether to believe in his good fortune, and Tony noted, dryly, a little breathless, "You could probably have made your life a lot easier for yourself if you'd crushed on any one of the others instead."

"None of the others are like you," Steven replied simply, "I've never met anyone - or anything - like you." 

"My ego definitely appreciates that sentiment," Tony decided, as Steven pressed light, mouthing kisses over the edges of his lips, trailing down to his jaw and deliciously lower still, over his neck, to where the pulse was strongest, his breath ticklish and hot, tangling his fingers deliciously into covert feathers, making Tony's dick twitch suddenly in interest. "And, uh, as much as I've got nothing against exhibitionism, and I think Agent Coulson would probably never be scandalised by anything, ever, if we fuck before or during the cleanup I think Fury might want to have a Word." Many words, possibly mostly made up of expletives.

"I wasn't going to...!"

"How far does that blush go?" Tony teased, grinning broadly as Steven turned redder still before pulling him down for another kiss, slow and filthy, locking his big fingers over the small of Tony's back even as a pair of wings crept tentatively over Tony's hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how to end this. Ho hum.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has always secretly been a bit of a size queen. This works out well.

XX.

'Excessively large', was how an Israeli supermodel had once described the Malibu house's bedroom in a tabloid tell-all after Tony had picked her and her twin sister up during a charity gala a couple of years back, 'Just like his ego'. Pepper had rolled her eyes, Tony had shrugged. Right now, however, Tony was pretty thankful for the excesses of his ego.

Only the Mollino lamp beside his bed had suffered so far, dashed to the ground by a wayward flare of Steven's wings, and Tony felt that he really deserved an award for multitasking, what with wrangling off their clothes while Steven alternated between taking his mouth roughly or sucking down his fingers, scraping his teeth over the callused pads. "Tony," Steven gasped, then choked, " _Oh_ ," when Tony managed to drag Steven's black pants and boxers down past his hips, revealing a lovely monster of an uncut dick, flushed hard and already dripping. 

"If you'd shown me this gorgeous thing earlier," Tony wrapped greedy fingers around the thick length, giving it an experimental squeeze and smirking when Steven gasped and shoved his hips impatiently into Tony's grasp, "Maybe things might have turned out easier for everyone."

Steven frowned at that, his tertiary wings tipping up, as though curious, then he jerked again with a yelp as Tony tugged down the soft foreskin for a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over the slit, breathing deep. " _Tony_ ," he groaned, then his voice broke into a harsh ramble of words in another language when Tony met his eyes with a filthy grin and wrapped his lips over the fat head of his cock. Ripping sounds told Tony that his thousand thread count sheets had probably just seen their last days, and he pressed his palm over the hard, flat planes of Steven's stomach pointedly, his free hand wrapping over the base of Steven's cock as he swirled his tongue over the soft folds of foreskin. 

Big wings flattened down as Steven choked, even as his smaller wings heaved and twitched, but his hips stayed put, even though the muscular thighs bracketing Tony's ribs trembled from the effort of keeping still. Tony ignored that, continuing to lick and suck just the fleshy tip until Steven's flush was blotching down further, panting and gasping harshly in a wet series of " _oh, oh, oh_ " sounds that were going straight to Tony's dick. God. It was only the thorough experience from the combined exploits of a misspent childhood _and_ adulthood that kept Tony from rubbing himself like a schoolboy against the bed to relieve his growing ache. 

_Hot_.

At the first, careful rasp of teeth, Steven let out a raw sound as though ripped from his throat, and Tony would have drawn up to apologize if not for the thick spurt of salty fluid in his mouth, and he swallowed, pulling up with a laugh at Steven's anxious whine of protest. "Calm down, soldier," Tony purred, and he barely recognised his own voice, husky with lust, "We haven't even started." 

"You... you put your mouth on me," Steven retorted, in between gasps, "And it's been a while."

"Do tell," Tony gave Steven another squeeze but otherwise ignored his cock, shifting up, flaring his wings for balance as he leaned over to taste a pert pink nipple instead, lapping it until it pebbled, then nipping, grinning again as Steven's wings heaved as he choked. 

"Centuries," Steven elaborated, distracted now, his hands stroking reverently up Tony's ribs to the scattering of down over the knots of wing muscle on his back, then whined, "Don't stop," when Tony tipped his head up, arching an eyebrow.

"Centuries?" 

"The last cycle?" Steven kneaded thumbs over the base of his lowest wings in a careful circle, and Tony gasped, arching, _fuck_ , pleasure flushing through his veins like a live wire and making his cock jump.

"Wha..." Tony took a few breaths to get his heart rate back under control, then his brain belatedly recalled the conversation. Steven was smiling faintly, almost smug, as he petted up the shell of feathers on the tertiary wings to the soft ridges. "You could chase other young things in the middle, you know. I'm not going to mind."

"I would," Steven replied simply, his expression soft and painfully open, and Tony sidled up for a kiss, balancing his palms over broad shoulders, feathers stroking up against his thighs, and he knew objectively that he probably should be freaking out by now. 

Commitment had never particularly interested him, and what Steven was sketching in was something far more than any human conceptions, something as old as time; instead of scaring him, Tony felt humbled. It was a new sensation, and he prodded around its edges, unsettled, until Steven stroked the flat of his rough palms up over the ridges of wing muscle to the root of his primary wings, and the resulting pulse of _wow, fuck, awesome_ made Tony rub himself blindly over Steven's nice, flat belly, whimpering.

" _Steve_ ," Tony growled, and that wasn't right - he sounded wrecked and they hadn't even _started_ , and Steven spat on his own palm and dragged Tony down, his mouth possessive, tongue pressing deep into Tony's mouth as he closed his free hand over Tony's cock, jacking him off roughly; it was barely wet enough to be comfortable and God it was _hot_ , Tony whining deep in his throat as he pushed his hips eagerly into the pressure, then Steven dug the fingers of his free hand deep into the knots of covert feathers into the biggest left wing and _tugged_ and hell. Tony hadn't had his brain cut circuits like _that_ before; he could barely register his wrecked sob over the white noise in his ears, and he was spilling messily into Steven's hand, shaking.

Angel sex wasn't weird after all. It was _awesome_.

"You don't have to," Steven protested, after a long, dazed moment, when Tony finally managed the energy to unstick himself off that gorgeous broad chest and shift back to grasp Steven's cock, but it wasn't as though the other angel was doing a great job of hiding how strung out on the edge that he was, with his hips twitching and his wings thumping down on the bed. 

"As though you're not interested in having me suck you off," Tony retorted, with another one of his filthy grins, "Don't you want that, Steve? Stuff my throat full of your gorgeous, fat cock and use me, stretch me open? Fuck me raw? Break my voice? Make me feel it?"

"You, your _mouth_ ," Steven said faintly, even as Tony felt all that nice, thick flesh twitch in response, and no further invitation really seemed necessary; he scooted back and bent his head. A lap up and down was about all he really cared about necessities at this point before swallowing Steven down, inch by inch, concentrating; he really was a little out of practice, but Steven _moaned_ , desperate and hoarse, snapping his head back onto the pillow when Tony took in as much as he could and sucked. 

He'd meant to draw it out, maybe work on his gag reflex, try to take more - Steven was _gorgeous_ like this, wrecked and trembling to the tips of his wings, totally at his mercy and gasping noises that could've come straight out from a porn flick - and the moment Tony hummed, Steven let out a harsh yell, grabbing wildly for Tony's shoulder. Tony swallowed as much of the thick come as he could before pulling back, gasping and cupping the rest in a palm, watching Steven hungrily as he shook, that pretty face slack with ecstasy. 

"Tony," Steven managed, after a few strangled gasps, then he groaned as Tony lapped the tips of his filthy fingers and deliberately smeared a line of Steven's come over his neck to his collarbone, and yeah, that garbled noise was probably the sound of Steven's control finally snapping. The other angel surged up, flipping them deftly and pinning Tony on the bed, wings arched wide behind him as he took Tony's mouth again, kissing him deeply as though trying to chase his own taste, then Steven lapped down the sticky trail of come to its end and bit down, working in his teeth as Tony yelped and bucked, his spent cock making a manful attempt to get hard again.

"I'm awesome," Tony decided, as Steven eventually let up, curling against him, an awkward fit with wings all over the place and big hands locked again over his back, still breathing shallowly. 

"Mm," Steven agreed, nosing sleepily against his neck, then he stiffened as Tony playfully pressed a thumb up along the soft length pushed against his hip. "Tony."

"Next time I'm going to ride this until I ruin you," Tony purred, his voice still rusty from the mild abuse that it'd just been put through, "Want to feel it for days."

" _Tony_ ," Steven gasped, and when Tony laughed as he felt Steven twitch, groaned, " _Fuck_ ," and rolled on top of him to kiss him placid.

XXI.

"Why are we here, exactly?" Bruce asked nervously, for the fifth time, as they sat bundled up on a stone ledge in Frogner Park. Late autumn had painted the trees orange and red, scattering slices of colour over the grass, and tourists were ambling around, taking photographs.

"It's a nice day out?"

"We're in _Oslo_ ," Bruce noted patiently. 

"And?"

"I don't think I'm safe in public?"

"I can teleport, Bruce. If you hulk out, I'll 'port you home to the facility and you can wreck all that UN funding until Fury pops a blood vessel."

"If I what?" 

"Hulk out. It's a new SHIELD euphemism," Tony explained, "I hacked into the comms." 

"Oh." Bruce seemed to think this over for a moment. "Sounds fitting, somehow. Okay. So, um. Oslo."

"It's a surprise?"

"Tony," Bruce noted patiently, "I don't think I really want to deal with surprises."

"You've made pretty good process on the wrecking ball front," Tony noted. He'd been busy with his new company and the shielding prototype tests, shuttling between his Malibu house and the SHIELD labs, but he'd heard that Bruce's training sessions were going fairly well.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it, but I still nearly... When I was out of control for a bit, couple of days back, I hit Natasha," Bruce admitted guiltily. "Michael healed her, and she didn't seem annoyed until I tried to apologize, afterwards."

"Didn't think so." Tony personally felt that Natasha was terrifying. She had reached full functionality after Tony's battle with Ramiel, and she was faster and more situation-aware than ever. Terrifying. 

"But still," Bruce noted mildly, "My alternative form could probably put you through all these statues without breaking a sweat. No surprises, Tony."

"Gabriel's meant to be stronger than Ezekiel," Tony pointed out, a little sulkily, but he caved. "Fine. We're fishing."

"Fishing?"

"Remember what Steve said about Lucifer? I got to thinking - if Lucifer could only dreamwalk, then the only people he could have had undivided access to over five years would have to be coma patients, right? So I got JARVIS to cross reference Ramiel's face against all the coma patients that got discharged recently. Hit gold in the Rikhospitalet. There was a Donald Blake," Tony elaborated, when Bruce frowned. "Car accident victim, ended up in a stable coma for about five and a half years."

"The Rikhospitalet? Isn't that a specialty hospital? Didn't think that they'd take in a coma victim."

Trust Bruce to know his hospitals. "The medical staff nicknamed him 'Thor'," Tony ignored the interruption, "Because in the last five years, his muscle mass didn't wither or drop off - it actually seemed to increase. Brain activity heightened in stages, and somehow, Blake actually seemed to be getting fitter and healthier, even though he never woke up."

"That's a result of Lucifer's 'dreamwalking'?" Steven hadn't been very good at explaining what 'dreamwalking' was, and had looked visibly tired after Bruce had peppered him with questions. Tony figured that long technical explanations weren't exactly Steven's forte.

"Think so. Didn't really want to know. I hate magic. Anyway, the day I got my wings, he reportedly woke up, freaked out the nurse in the room by thanking her, then he vanished. That's not the official report on his file, but JARVIS brought up the CCTV logs." 

"What makes you think that Ramiel's still in Oslo?" Bruce asked, frowning, "And why am _I_ here? Shouldn't you bring Michael?" 

Bruce and the others had categorically refused to refer to Michael as 'Steve', especially after Steven had finally caved and held a mass, long-overdue briefing about the Start of the Apocalypse, angel functions, Lucifer, Ramiel, and a rough road map of where they were heading next. Tony had expected more freaking out, somehow, but Clint and Natasha had merely nodded, as though they'd heard it before, and Bruce had shrugged. It made Tony wonder if his extended freak out was normal, or whether the rest of his dysfunctional angel family were just far more unstable than he'd thought. Though he _was_ getting fonder of them than he had expected, even prickly, terrifying Natasha. Not that he would admit it. Especially not to Clint.

Still, Tony couldn't quite think of Steven as 'Michael' - there was a dissonance there, and if he did so, it felt as though he was caving in and acknowledging only the non-human aspect of Steven, the ancient, alien entity that could be 'programmed' to restart a disaster every few centuries. Tony wanted to believe that there was something more. Maybe something that could be changed.

"I don't think he'll react well to Steve," Tony admitted. Having to explain this mission to Steven had taken a very long time, and Steven had eventually given ground, though he had been clearly unhappy about it. And then, when Tony had added as an afterthought that he was going to take Bruce along, Steven had nearly shot it down all over again; Tony had ended up pinning Steven to a corner of the lab and sucking him off until he'd gotten what he wanted. Possibly not a dignified method of conflict resolution, but fun. "Clint will shoot first and ask later, and I think Natasha has a pretty fine violence trigger, too. You're the most normal person on the team."

"Thanks, I think," Bruce conceded dryly. "But I still doubt that he'll show up."

"Well," Tony said brightly, "You see that old couple way over there, on the other side of that fountain? That's his mom and dad."

" _Tony_!" Bruce hissed. "We can't just... just _make off_ with innocent civilians!" 

"I wasn't going to kidnap them," Tony noted, offended. "Honestly, Bruce. We're just on a stakeout. Like in the movies."

"Sooner or later someone's going to recognise you," Bruce muttered, though he shifted a little, to keep the Blakes in his peripheral vision.

"I like my fans," Tony retorted.

"Your celebrity hounds," Bruce corrected, and they were still bickering like old friends when Ramiel abruptly sat down beside Bruce, making him yelp and jump. Whatever the training had been, though, it had been good. No sudden green monsters. Ramiel, thankfully, was dressed in a sane manner today, also wrapped up warm in a thick brown jacket and jeans, and he smiled at them both, genuinely happy to see them. Weirdly enough.

Ramiel clapped Bruce on the back, making him flinch. "Ezekiel! Gabriel. Well met."

"Hi," Bruce said cautiously, "And it's 'Bruce', thanks. Why do you seem to remember us?" he added, curiously. "The rest of us don't get our old memories. Except Michael."

"Lucifer showed me some of our old exploits, before the Fall," Ramiel shrugged. "We had many fine adventures together."

Well. That explained Ramiel's rather odd, semi medieval turn of phrase, if Lucifer had been working on the poor bastard for the last five years by feeding him old-timer memories. 

"Okay..." Bruce looked uncomfortable, but Tony had to give it to the guy, he was trying. "So, uh, if you like us, and I think you're possibly a... nice guy... why don't you come back with us? You could meet Raziel and Uriel."

That sobered Ramiel up - his grin faded, and he glanced away. "I cannot." 

"Oh come on, Ramiel," Tony said, as persuasively as he could, "You're a big boy. Lucifer doesn't have you collared, and if you thought that sparring with me was fun, wait till you try Raziel." Natasha would probably wipe the floor with Ramiel's ass, actually, which would be fun to watch.

Ramiel sighed. "Much as that would be true, I am committed. As the both of you could be," he added, glancing at them hopefully. "Do you not know what Lucifer's design is?"

"Following popular media, fire and brimstone?" Tony hazarded. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Tony, you're obsessed."

"Can't blame a man for being disappointed in the lack of dramatics in the apocalypse so far." He'd tangled with some demons over the last week, but it'd gotten boring, especially once he'd managed to successfully field test the AI scrambler. TK IIIs were no longer going to be a threat.

"He intends to break the cycle," Ramiel noted mildly, "To free us all from our functions. That was why he rebelled. He rejected God's choice to provide only humanity with self-determination."

Tony glanced quickly at the passing tourists, but nobody seemed to be interested in the conversation, as compared to the weird statues peppering the area. Huh. Tourists. "If his cause is so just," Bruce asked, "Then why didn't you side with him before?"

"I did not have a clear picture before," Ramiel said earnestly. "Gabriel, I do not hate Michael for having to start the cycle. He is compelled to. But surely _you_ feel that it is wrong. _He_ likely feels that it is wrong. After all, why else would he hide the knowledge from you? We could change this. Change our own fate, the way humanity can. Lucifer has a plan."

"You want to be a real boy?" Tony quipped, and as Ramiel frowned at him, a little confused, Tony added, "Never mind. But what's the cost, Ramiel? Ever asked Lucifer about that? Because the way I've heard it told, if the seals all get broken and the shakedown happens, mass extinction is only the tip of the shitstorm."

"Or so you've heard," Ramiel replied, though he looked a little uncertain. Kid was like an open book. It was refreshing, in a way. Especially when no hammers were involved. 

"Maybe you should ask Lucifer a few more questions," Bruce said gently, "Maybe we're wrong, and he's right, but before we all make any hasty decisions, we probably should try and see what all the cards on the table are."

"If we can rework this pesky 'function' thing, I'll like to know how," Tony added quickly. "I don't like it either, and apparently I don't even have one any longer. Maybe when you've hashed things out, you could give me a call." He fished in his pockets, and passed Ramiel one of his cards. "Anytime."

"I will." Ramiel tucked the card away, rubbing his palms absently as he looked out over the park. His human parents were long gone, but he watched the slowly emptying lawn, quiet.

"You could go talk to them, if you haven't," Bruce suggested. "They're probably really worried about you."

"It would not help." Ramiel shook his head. "Lucifer explained it to me." At Tony's frown, Ramiel added, more defensively, "He loves me. I was lost, after my accident, trapped in my own mind. He saved me." 

Tony swallowed his sarcastic quip when he felt Bruce pinch his leg pointedly. "I'm sure he does," Bruce said calmly. "But they _are_ your parents. And you're also an archangel, Ramiel. You're also meant to know intrinsically what's right and what's wrong, aren't you?" 

Ramiel glanced at Bruce soberly, then at Tony, then tipped his head up to look at the sky. "I've been told that I am as the storm. Battle is uncomplicated. I enjoy that. Uncomplicated things." Ramiel hesitated, then he looked back over at the grass. "Uncomplicated things," he repeated, in a softer voice, musing.

"Want to get a coffee?" Tony asked, when the silence started to grow awkward and thorny. "My treat. Also, my ass is starting to freeze onto the concrete."

Ramiel blinked at him, startled, then he shook his head. "No. I should leave. But it was... good talking to the both of you," he decided, then he smiled, puppyish again. "Bring Raziel the next time, Gabriel. We should spar."

"Maybe somewhere less public," Tony allowed. "Would you come back with us if she kicks your ass?"

"I doubt that she would," Ramiel drawled, clearly perking up at the promise of violence, then he tilted his head, as though listening to something, and vanished. 

"That wasn't so bad," Bruce suggested, after a long moment, "But don't do that to me again."

"Hey, if you weren't here, I would have tried to punch in his face, and that probably wouldn't have ended well," Tony felt fairly optimistic. "See. I make awesome plans."

"I still don't think that we're grasping the big picture," Bruce muttered, looking thoughtful, and just as Tony was about to disagree, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Tony Stark." 

"We have a situation in London," Coulson said immediately, in a clipped tone. "Take Dr. Banner with you." 

"You're sure about that?"

"He's showed admirable progress in self-control, Mr. Stark. As have you," the Agent added, clipped and flat as ever.

"Did you just give me a compliment? Hold on. I'm going to faint."

"The situation's urgent, Mr. Stark. I hope that I won't have to retract my opinion in the near future." Coulson hung up. 

Dick.

"We've been conscripted," he told Bruce, as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"I don't... really? I doubt that I'm ready," Bruce said warily, though he got to his feet. 

"Relax. As long as you don't bust up Big Ben, I don't think that there's going to be a problem."

"I... what? Where are we going?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some other deadlines to meet. May slow down a bit on updates.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, when the actual fire and brimstone schtick arrived, it wasn't really funny anymore.

XXII.

London burned anyway, even with Bruce more or less in control of his alternative form, even with Tony working himself into exhaustion for the first time in his life on something that wasn't tech-related. The X-men and various other super-teams were out in force, at least until they were overwhelmed, though Tony was fairly sure that the Wolverine was probably still out there, berserk and stabbing demons. Hopefully.

Hell had suffered its casualties his _ass_. 

Tony was sitting on the sundered edge of the Trafalgar Square fountain, water soaking into the smashed tiles at his feet, wings flat against his back and shaking. His gauntlets were dented and seared, and as he held out a hand, palm down, he noticed a tremor. God. Beyond him, an orange glow lit up the evening sky, and smoke ran thick and heavy over the rooftops. The worst were the screams-

"Stark," Clint abruptly appeared beside him, sleek falcon-brown wings flared - the sole silver lining of this disaster, at least: everyone had reached full functionality, "Get up, man."

"Just catching my breath," Tony rasped, and fought the urge to wipe his mouth again. He'd retreated somewhere quiet for a bit when he'd spat blood on his gauntlets. Seems that a human vessel couldn't quite handle one too many of the Words, and Steven was - naturally - not answering any calls. "Where do you need me?"

"You went off radar."

Wordlessly, Tony fished out his phone, which had given up even the semblance of being operational - the screen was just dead. "The energy signal from the Words fucks up most electronics. I'll get around to a solution after this."

"Then your scrambler?"

"That one works." No StarkTech missiles. Wincing, Tony pulled himself to his feet. "I'm fine. Go back up high."

"Lucifer's been spotted. I can't get through to Michael, Bruce and Natasha are tied up." Clint watched him soberly. "He's over at Hyde Park, apparently. Go distract him. I'll cover you." 

"We're both exhausted. This is a really bad plan." Tony noted dryly, and Clint's wings flicked up before folding over his back. "And he might still be an illusion."

"Yeah. I know. But if there was a chance to end the War, wouldn't you take it?" Clint's jaw was set as he looked around Trafalgar Square. "This is fucked up, man. I was just here a couple of years back. Fed some pigeons." Tracking eyes fixed back onto the distant plumes of gritty black smoke. "Fucked up."

Tony closed his eyes briefly and rolled his shoulders. That much was true. "Which bit of Hyde Park?"

Lucifer was dressed even more sedately today, in a black coat over a white dress shirt and trousers, a yellow scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, studying the Holocaust memorial idly. "Ah. Gabriel."

Hoping that he wasn't about to accidentally set any historic landmarks on fire, Tony rasped, "Hi," and raised his palms. 

The energy bolt swept through Lucifer's illusion, earthing harmlessly on the grass beyond, and Lucifer smiled condescendingly. "Well met."

"So you're still safely boxed up then. See you around." 

"Perhaps not for very long." Lucifer lifted a shoulder. "What _do_ you think Ramiel and Michael are doing?"

"Bonding, hopefully." So _that_ was why Steven had been a no show when London had burned. Tony sucked in a ragged breath, and forced himself to calm down. Tactically, it did make a horrible sort of sense: in Steven's opinion, preventing Lucifer's cage from breaking was probably far more important. 

"Ramiel has a great deal of promise in the ways of war. Perhaps more than Michael. He simply needed some guidance." Lucifer's lips quirked up briefly, in malice. "And besides, Michael does not wish to hurt him. Ramiel, on the other hand, has few compunctions where damage is concerned."

"I saw that." Tony hesitated, wondering whether to continue verbally sparring with an illusion or run off to see if Fury knew where Michael was. Hopefully Clint had audio and was already taking care of that: as much as Steven was obviously experienced in combat, if Lucifer was this confident... "Does Ramiel know how much of an asshole you really are?" Tony gestured at the smoke rising beyond the buildings surrounding the park. "Because he doesn't really seem like all that of a bad boy."

"Perhaps." Lucifer flicked his gaze over at the smoke, disinterested, and back to Tony. "I've had a longer time to work on him, this cycle. But enough of him. You and I were good friends once, Gabriel. I hoped to make another appeal to your reason."

"You mean, after you dropped me out at skyscraper height without a parachute? You really think that I'm still open to a cup of coffee and some fucking biscuits?"

"I'm well versed at the turns of the cycle. I knew that you would have survived," Lucifer pointed out blandly. "Your final awakening is among the most difficult. Often it requires dramatic measures. Hear me out."

"All right," Tony decided, after a pause, warily, "Talk."

"Ramiel mentioned to you that I was looking for a way to end the cycles, did he not?"

"I'm not exactly a 'the ends justify the means' sort of person, Lucifer. I can't exactly agree to something that benefits a few at the cost of the entire planet. People _burned alive_ today, Lucifer," Tony snapped, "Murdered by your damned monsters. And I couldn't save them!"

"This?" Lucifer glanced at the park, then back, "This is symptomatic, Gabriel. I am in no more control of it than you are. The purge of mankind is written. The signs will manifest themselves regardless of whether I am present. I wish to stop the system altogether. Do you not understand that?"

"So you're telling me that the demons don't listen to you?"

"They are rabid creatures, and the violence within them cannot be stifled for long without release. I have held them back for as long as I could," Lucifer spread his hands. "But in my current form I have little power to restrain them."

"Supposing you get your wings back, what then? Will you stop them?"

"If we have an understanding, certainly. Otherwise, I have no choice but to use the resources that I have on hand to distract all of you if necessary." Lucifer eyed him calmly. "I do not care whether mankind lives or dies. I just want to be free of my function."

"And what will you do when you're free?" Tony asked sharply, "Funny, but I can't really imagine you retiring somewhere, opening a wine bar and playing the piano for a living."

"There are other worlds beyond this one. Other planes of existence. I would explore them. I am tired of this one. You may follow me if you wish. Eventually, no doubt mortal cares will also bore you as they would me."

Tony stared at Lucifer, his wings furling slightly, still uncertain, but Lucifer merely smiled blandly. Finally, Tony asked gruffly, "So what exactly would this 'understanding' mean? We just shake hands and agree to ignore each other?"

"I sense that Raziel, Uriel and Michael are already too committed. They were always... militaristic," Lucifer said regretfully. "But between you, myself and Ramiel, and perhaps Ezekiel, if you can persuade him, we should be able to push the balance in my favour quickly enough."

"I won't help you kill them."

"There is no need to. I am very well versed," Lucifer noted ironically, "In the ways of imprisoning archangels. As you can imagine. They need only be imprisoned for a short while until I finish my work, and will be otherwise unharmed."

"And what do you mean by 'your work'?"

"Leaving aside trying to turn aside the script for now, we subvert it. Introduce a line of unpredictability. There are some facets of Creation that are lynchpins to the cycle; in my opinion, they secure it in place. Perhaps they even... power it. If we were to remove those from the board, the cycle should wind down. Then we would be free."

"Or tear a great big hole in the fabric of reality." Movies and popular media had been pretty amply certain that doing so was a bad idea, in Tony's opinion.

Lucifer smiled again faintly. "The point _is_ to tear reality, Gabriel. And then to reshape it. To rework it such that we are all free."

"This sounds," Tony noted slowly, rather surprised by the audacity of what Lucifer was suggesting, "Like a crazy idea, and it's going to blow up in your face. Do you even have any idea what might happen if you did that?"

"We were present in the Beginning when reality was shaped," Lucifer lifted a shoulder into a careless shrug. "I am confident that between the three, or four of us, if Ezekiel is included, we should be able to weave it to suit our will. Soul memory may prevail."

"What facets are we talking about here?"

"Three places, Gabriel. The Silver City - Heaven itself. Purgatory. Hell."

"Heaven's already empty."

"Exactly. And the others contain trifles."

Tony hesitated, groping vaguely for context: he wasn't particularly acquainted with theology, even after Wikipedia. "Uh. Human souls?"

"Are either reborn, for the lucky few - or unlucky, if you want to view it that way - or dissipate. They are mortal in every sense of the word."

"How are you going to get rid of these places? I can't exactly see C4 cutting it, somehow."

"You know the words of Creation, Gabriel. With you, the task should prove relatively simpler. Think of it," Lucifer said earnestly. "This could all be over. No more cycles. No more burning cities." 

Tony wavered. "I'll have to... think about it." He didn't trust Lucifer, but still-

"Yes. You should." Lucifer dipped his head, then took a step back, rolling his shoulders, and his lean frame abruptly grew luminous, growing brighter and brighter until Tony had to shield his eyes, his wings flaring behind him. Blinking out spots, Tony eventually looked up again, blearily, and Lucifer was flexing his fingers, smiling, as behind him three pairs of brilliant white wings stretched themselves, heart-stoppingly beautiful. "Try not to take too long."

"Now that," Tony grumbled, "Is just fucking _unfair_." Why was it that the black sheep angel got the propaganda-correct wing colours?

"When you have made up your mind," Lucifer flared his wings, "Come and look for me."

He vanished, just as an arrow abruptly passed through the space it had been and buried itself in a tree, which after a beep, exploded. Tony flinched, even as Clint abruptly appeared next to him, swearing profusely. "Missed. Why didn't you take a shot?"

"I did earlier."

"Pay attention, Stark," Clint muttered, glowering at the shattered tree. "Where the hell is Michael?"

"I'm thinking that he possibly just got the asskicking of his life from Ramiel, if Lucifer's gotten winged up," Tony guessed grimly. 

"What?"

XXIII.

After a couple of days, even Tony had to admit that he was getting really worried. Steven hadn't returned and Fury had his hands full containing the fallout from the London disaster; it was all hands on deck at SHIELD, with no resources to devote to finding out where Steven _was_.

Which meant that it was up to Tony. 

Naturally.

Taking himself all the way out into the Nevada desert was a precaution, but Tony had to admit that this was possibly rather stupid. After all, if Lucifer turned out to be less than honest about his offer of friendship, Tony _might_ end up finding himself facing down both Ramiel _and_ Lucifer, and just the former had already proved to be a bit of a problem the last time.

Ah, well. No harm done trying. And besides, he could always make a tactical retreat. The wings were growing handy, and after the inevitable bird jokes had faded, even Clint was getting fond of his pairs.

"Lucifer."

There was a long moment of nothing, then when Tony opened his mouth again, Ramiel appeared, storm gray wings flared out for balance, his grin puppyish, dressed again in his ridiculous semi-medieval get up. "Gabriel."

"I want to talk to loverboy, not you."

"He is busy." 

"What did you do to Steve?"

"Defeated him." Ramiel stated proudly, then his face fell slightly. "Although I could sense that he was... holding back. That was unfortunate."

"You killed him?" Tony's hands clenched tight, his stomach twisting; he could feel a fierce anger welling up-

"No," Ramiel seemed startled that he had even asked. "Of course not. All of you are my brothers. I bear you no hatred."

Relief threatened to choke him up for just a moment before Tony managed to get a hold of himself. "Then where is he now?"

"Contained. When we have finished our purpose, we will set him free again. You have my word."

"Contained? Where?"

"There was a cage free," Ramiel reminded Tony wryly. "Only recently, as it so happens."

Containing Steven in Lucifer's old cage. There was a certain irony in that, Tony supposed wryly. "And he's all right?"

"He can heal himself."

"I want to see him."

Ramiel watched Tony soberly for a moment, his wings flaring out before clipping back behind him. "He is caged," Ramiel settled for repeating, though he looked uncertain for a moment. "I am sure that he is fine. I did not damage him too badly."

"Look, you guys need me, yeah? I'll like to see some form of good will before that," Tony tried to keep his voice even and reasonable. "Because so far I haven't really seen anything from the both of you that suggests that you guys aren't just in this to stab me in the back."

Ramiel seemed affronted by the very suggestion. "I would not do that."

"Then prove it. Or can't you?"

The other angel visibly wavered, then he set his jaw. "Very well. I'll show you. But he must remain caged. For now."

"I got that when your boss explained it to me." 

Ramiel stared at him for a moment longer, then he sighed, and padded over, his hand stretched palm up, and Tony took it. 

They reappeared in what looked like some sort of narrow granite corridor, and Tony followed Ramiel as the corridor grew wider, taller, and eventually emerged into some sort of circular cavern, the center of which was a smooth metallic cylinder in iridescent black that somehow hurt Tony's eyes even to look at it; it gave off a disorienting sensation, like a multiple dimensional puzzle, an optical trick. There was no window or any sort of door, and the cylinder was seamlessly sunk into the ceiling and the floor of the cave, about twelve feet in diameter and twice that in height. 

"Steve?" Tony asked out loud, tentatively.

There was a pause, then a startled, wary, "Gabriel?" that echoed, muffled, from within the cylinder.

"I can't believe that you lost to Ramiel."

Ramiel snorted, beside him, through another grin. "Perhaps if he had tried harder, he may have fared differently. I did warn him."

"What are you doing here? Get out!" Steven cut in urgently. "This is an entropic room. Your powers don't work here! Don't worry about me."

"Ramiel's just letting me check on you. Are you all right in there?" 

"You can't trust Lucifer, Gabriel," Steven said urgently, "You have to leave. _Now_." 

"I will be," Tony hesitated, a little uncertain. On one hand, Steven seemed to be fine - more or less. On the other hand, it didn't quite feel... _right_ , leaving him in there. "Look. Lucifer said he'll let you out after he's done. So it's only going to be a short while, I think."

"Gabriel, what are you saying-"

"Exactly what he is," Lucifer said urbanely, padding into the chamber. He nodded at Ramiel, who flipped his wings shut and left the room with a nod and a friendly clap on Tony's shoulder. "You've never learned to watch the pawns that you think that you already have in hand, Michael."

"You can't have... Gabriel, _Tony_ , you cannot trust Lucifer. He will say anything that he can to achieve his ends. He isn't looking for a way to free us all - he's only looking to free himself! He'll let the world burn if it stands in his way!"

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Tony promised, then he stiffened as he felt Lucifer press a palm against his back. "Whoah. Watch the personal space, Lucy."

"And as to _your_ problem, Gabriel," Lucifer continued blandly, ignoring him, "You were always far too quick to trust your own decisions."

So saying, he leaned forward, to press a palm against the black cylinder, even as he pushed Tony forward with surprising strength, and even as Tony yelped, instinctively flaring his wings for balance, he found himself falling face first into the metal - and _through_ -

-and into a circular room with seamless walls, landing heavily on his flank, wings flailing awkwardly. 

Beside him, Steven stared at him, wide-eyed. "Tony?"

Well.

That was remarkably stupid.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every act of colossal stupidity has a silver lining.

XXIV

Steven pulled him to his feet, anxiously looking him over. "Are you all right?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" Mottling bruises covered Steven's right arm under his torn sleeve, and he was sporting a rather impressive black eye. He was hunched slightly, wings tense, and his fingers crept over to his ribs, probing them and wincing. 

"I'll survive."

"What happened to healing yourself?"

"Powers don't work in this room, Tony. We do naturally regenerate ourselves, but it is a far slower process."

"Okay. So we're possibly fucked." That pretty much was the story of his life to date, come to think of it.

Steven eyed him unhappily. "You should not have come." 

"I was worried, all right?" Tony snapped, angry with himself, stalking over to the nearest wall and running his palms over it. It felt like metal, slightly warm, and when he rapped his knuckles against it, there was a hollow _boom_ that echoed around the room which made his teeth ache. 

"Don't do that," Steven muttered, as he gingerly sat down, cradling his injured side with his wings. Belatedly, Tony put his own pairs away, or tried to - they stayed resolutely out, but at least they weren't fully manifested to the point of ripping up his Tom Ford suit. Grumbling, Tony folded them up as tightly as they could go against his back, but the room was still awkwardly crowded. Lucifer's prison obviously hadn't been made for two. 

Tony checked his phone hopefully, but there was no reception - they were probably somewhere deep underground, or maybe it was the particular nature of the cage. Returning the phone into his pocket, he said, "JARVIS?"

"Good afternoon, sir." JARVIS' voice had the slightly tinny nature that it got whenever running on backup microsystems. "Initiating safe mode. Please reconnect to Stark-One."

Definitely deep underground, then. Or... "Give me an onboard functionality status report." 

"Systems green, offline mode. Please reconnect to Stark-One."

Thankfully he'd thought to upgrade the movable version of JARVIS by loading up the gauntlets with more functionality last night. "Give me a full scan and analysis of the immediate area, diameter fifty feet."

"System scan operational only to immediate surroundings, materials unknown origin, container diameter twelve feet, sir."

So it was the room. "Do a full scan of what you can." 

"Initiating." 

As JARVIS slowly swept the room with a pale grid of light, Steven watched him warily. "What are you doing?"

"There has to be some - hopefully anyway - scientific reason why this room contains our energy signatures. Maybe there's a disruption from the materials, or the symmetry, whatever it is." Tony was feeling slightly more cheered up about his stupid decision - maybe he could learn something useful from it. "If it can be recreated artificially, stashing Lucifer away is going to be easier. Or, if it can be disrupted from within, maybe we can get out."

"This room was made by the Creator, Tony. It is unique."

"Maybe. But I can try to make a copy of it." It took some awkward shifting, but eventually, Tony managed to sit down beside Steven without crushing anybody's wings. "Are you sure that you're doing all right?"

"Worry about yourself," Steven reached over to press a palm gently over his cheek. "Your shell is mortal, Tony, more or less. You will need sustenance. You may last longer than a normal human, but you will die. And I can't..." his voice hitched for a moment, and Steven looked away, his hands pushing back into his lap. "If I have to watch... I don't think that I can bear it."

Okay. That was discouraging. "JARVIS, oxygen levels."

"Stable. There is an air flow, location pending."

So. Death by starvation. Or thirst. Extended by his now natural cellular regeneration. "How long would I have?"

"I do not know. I... why did you come, Gabriel?" Steven demanded, his voice harsh with grief. "You-"

"Hey, hey," Climbing into Steven's lap was an awkward process of carefully checking to see if he was bumping against anything damaged. Steven stiffened up at the first kiss, but slowly, Tony could feel the tension ebbing, and big hands eventually crept up his thighs to his hips, stroking caresses in lazy circles. "The others aren't that hopeless. They'll find us. I mean, you told Fury where Lucifer's cage was, yeah?"

"No." Steven looked a little shamefaced. "He did not need to know."

"Well, if he didn't press the issue, I bet he'd already known." It would be just like Fury, really. Tony couldn't quite imagine Fury _not_ wanting to know where the Big Bad was stashed. "Someone will come and get us."

"They will be no match for Lucifer _and_ Ramiel."

"Not headlong, maybe not. But Clint and Natasha are SHIELD trained. They know subtlety." Or so Tony hoped. "And Ezekiel's smarter than I am." In some ways.

"Perhaps so." Steven sounded doubtful, but at least the wild cast to his face was gone, and he was petting up the arch of Tony's lowest set of wings, tenderly tracing the coverts.

"So if our powers don't work in this room - including the bits outside the cage - how the hell did Lucifer lock me in here?"

"Unlocking this is not a matter of wielding grace," Steven patted the ground beside him, "It is a matter of rearranging the shift of its naturally malleable reality from the outside. It is..." Steven hesitated for a moment, "It is hard to explain. But with the seals gone, it would have been easier to unlock."

"I guess Ramiel managed it, and he isn't exactly the brightest card in the deck." 

"He would have had guidance," Steven mused, then he scowled, "And Ramiel has his strengths."

"You can't be defending that overgrown puppy," Tony said dryly, "He beat you up and stashed you in here."

"He may have been misled - this cycle - but he is still one of us," Steven grumbled, though he leaned up into a kiss as Tony snorted and brushed their lips together. At least this was a pleasant way of keeping Steven calm, even if his knees were starting to complain; _nice_ , even, intimate, wrapped together in time. 

If he had to go, if the others didn't make it in time, Tony supposed that there were worse ways of bowing out. "Steve, if I don't... if I don't make it," he said carefully, ignoring how Steven's lip curled unhappily again, "I need you to give my gauntlets to Pepper. Pepper Potts, she's my secretary. Get her to hook it up to the mainframe in my house, she knows how. Then give the information to SHIELD. Maybe it'll help."

"This cage is meant to hold us in," Steven noted quietly. "You are assuming that-"

"Yeah. You will get out. Sooner or later, right? You don't need to eat, or drink. I mean..." Tony frowned slightly, even as Steven looked miserable again, "If powers don't work, how the hell does Lucifer project his illusions? Dreamwalk?"

"He has access to powers beyond that which was originally bestowed on him by the Creator. The seals held those in check. This cage held the rest." 

"So how did he get those extra batteries?"

"He ate from the Tree," Steven said soberly, "The Fruit of Knowledge was only meant for humanity. He sought to remove his function. He only succeeded in corrupting it."

"Yeah, about that." Tony arched his wings as big fingers nudged further into thick feathers, soothing and warm, "He told me that he had another plan. Not sure whether he was pulling this one out of his ass or anything, but he said that if he knocked Hell, Purgatory and Heaven off the board, he would be able to reshape reality and remove his function... Steven?"

Steven had gone very pale. "He said this to you? When?"

"'Bout when you were trading blows with the giant winged puppy."

"It... could work," Steven stated slowly, blinking. "Heaven was damaged and emptied in the last cycle. Purgatory in the cycle before... and Hell has ebbed slow after the last two wars. Perhaps he knows how to unmake the last of their threads. He does have Knowledge."

"So he could, actually, tear a hole in reality like he said and rebuild it?"

"It is possible. Because of the Tree, Lucifer would know better than the rest of us, in any regard."

"Okay. Not good then." And he hadn't mentioned Lucifer's plans to anyone after Hyde Park, which, on hindsight, hadn't been a particularly good idea. 

"Perhaps the others will come," Steven mused, gingerly arranging Tony against him to avoid most of the bruises, tucking Tony's head under his chin and stroking his back, occasionally curling fingers into his wings. This was... a little strange, Tony decided, as he relaxed into it, if edging into sap territory; it wasn't entirely comfortable, but he could hear Steven's pulse, with his ear pressed against his shoulder, and the easy, no-prior-sex-included intimacy should have been scary. 

Instead, it only seemed natural, and maybe those trashy women's magazines that were Pepper's seemingly sole guilty pleasure were right after all, at least for angels. Maybe there was really just someone out there who was _right_ , and all his struggling had been his usual dislike of inevitability. Maybe he could only fully appreciate something truly good in his life when he died on it.

If he survived this, Tony thought, watching Jarvis continue to scan the room with half-lidded eyes, maybe it wouldn't hurt to let go of a little cynicism.

Eventually it seemed easier just to sleep. He wasn't hungry and thirsty then, and Steven gave up trying to shake him awake after a while. JARVIS had finished its data analysis, but Tony couldn't really come up with the mental willpower to listen to it; Steven was warm and smelled good, despite everything, and he needed to rest. 

At some point he was dimly aware of being moved, of background noise, but it didn't seem important-

XXV.

Waking up felt like the worst idea ever.

A full body ache and a massive headache was just the start, winding down to an unpleasant numbness in the tips of his fingers, a painful cramp in all of his wings and the taste of something foul in his mouth. Blearily, Tony looked to the side, only to meet Ramiel's hunted-animal look, set in the backdrop of the SHIELD infirmary.

Well.

That wasn't so bad. Maybe.

"Is this some sort of pre-death wish fulfilment fantasy?" An attempt at a suave observation came out as a croak. "Because I think I'll rather have something more cheerful, maybe with a few Swedish handball teams."

"You're alive." Ramiel looked visibly relieved, and he straightened up. "I will go."

"No, wait." Tony rasped, and Ramiel hesitated, then helped prop up Tony against the bed, picking up a glass of water from the side table. Half a glass made Tony feel somewhat more functional, and Ramiel sat down self-consciously, replacing the glass even as Tony folded away his wings with relief. "I suppose you were the one who saved us?"

"It was wrong," Ramiel noted unhappily, "Michael was... Lucifer advised me not to, but I went to the cage, days after, just to talk, I never thought - Michael was desperate. He begged me to let you out, even if he had to remain. He said that you were dying. I never thought that you could die from the cage. I never meant that to happen."

"It didn't. Thanks to you, I guess." Tony said slowly. "Where're the others?"

"At war." Ramiel stared at his hands, for a long moment, then he said, impulsively, "I still think that Lucifer's goal is not an unjust one."

"So did I."

"But you are right," Ramiel added, more slowly, his big, open face scrunching up briefly, "I do not think that the ends can always justify the means. It is not... _right_. I am sorry."

"That's good. To hear." Tony relaxed against the pillows, relieved. "So what are you going to do next?"

"I offered to help, but the one-eyed human disagreed. I think they do not trust me." Ramiel noted, with a sigh. "I suppose that is understandable. They seek to prevent Lucifer from completing his goal."

"And how's that going?"

"I do not know." Ramiel admitted, a little shamefaced. "The details of his plans was never quite... an interest of mine. And I suppose now we would not be on... speaking terms, to say the least." 

Poor kid looked crushed. Tony bit down on his instinctive retort about expected results and sleeping with the Devil, and settled for reaching over to awkwardly pat Ramiel on the shoulder. Kid or not, Ramiel had intentionally betrayed his lover by choosing to save Tony, after all. He could appreciate that. 

"So everyone's in the Silver City?"

"I think so." Ramiel seemed visibly puzzled. "I am not sure why. The place is empty. I have been there - or at least, Lucifer showed it to me, once, years ago, when I could not wake as yet. He had only contempt for it. A shell of a place, he said - a symbol, little more."

A cold finger rubbed up Tony's spine. "Really? What _was_ he interested in, then?"

Ramiel thought this over for a moment, then he said, "Eden, I think. He showed me Eden often, and the Tree. Sometimes it was with great affection. He often said that knowledge was the beginning of self-awareness, and the end of even the best laid plans." 

"All right." Tony grit his teeth. It was a long shot, but- "Where are my gauntlets?"

"Michael gave them to a friend of yours, as I understand it. A lady."

"Right." Spying his phone on the side table, Tony grabbed it, and speed dialled Pepper's number. "Hey, Pep."

"Tony! When did you wake up?" Pepper was, at least, gratifyingly overjoyed. "Are you okay?"

"Just recently. Listen, I need those gauntlets back. Where are they?"

"They're in the SHIELD labs, with Doctor Reed Richards. JARVIS uploaded the full analysis of the interior of the 'cage' into the systems and they've been analysing it."

" _Richards_?"

There was a laugh. "Tony, you really should have outgrown petty jealousy ages ago."

" _Who's jealous_?"

"Well, he did make Man of the Year in TIME about once more than you did-"

"And?"

"And he has won one more Nobel prize than you have-"

"In biology!"

"All right, Tony." Pepper stifled another giggle. "I'm glad you're fine. Check back when you can, all right? Don't worry about us, just do whatever you have to do. Happy and I are holding the fort. Your new company's doing fine."

Bloody _Richards_. Tony swore, swinging himself off the bed and grabbing awkwardly for the edge when he stumbled, and willed himself towards the SHIELD labs. 

Landing heavily against a workbench, on hindsight, wasn't a particularly dignified way to make an entrance, and the hospital gown probably detracted from the whole suave-archangel look as well. Richards looked up briefly, even as a hand extended impossibly to the side, absently, to right equipment and carefully nudge a chair out of a wayward wing's path. 

"Ah. Mister Stark."

"What the hell is he doing here?" Tony gestured angrily at Richards as he scowled at Coulson, perched on a chair with his hands in his lap, utterly unruffled.

"Consulting." Coulson noted mildly. "You were unconscious, and Richards is one of the foremost engineering geniuses of his generation - at your level, at the very least." 

"The things _I_ make always work. With no fucked up side effects," Tony growled, professional pride duly stung, but Richards had already happily turned back to whatever he was tinkering on and... "Hey! Those are _mine_!"

Richards seemed mildly astonished as Tony stalked a little erratically towards him. "I was just making a few diagnostic-"

"Don't _touch_ my things." Tony used his wings to bump Richards out of the way as he settled in front of his gauntlets, looking the damage anxiously over. "God, what did you do to the circuit boards? Play chequers on them?"

"Honestly, Stark, I expected childishness, but this?" Coulson noted mildly.

Tony glowered at Coulson. "Couldn't you have asked Bruce to run the analysis?"

"His specialty is in biology, Mister Stark. Besides, Doctor Banner also noted that he had only the utmost respect for an expert like Doctor Richards, and was in fact the one who recommended Doctor Richard's involvement since you were unconscious."

Tony seethed. Bruce was a _traitor_. Seemingly oblivious to all the tension, Richards curled his head over the wings, extending his neck. "I think I may have found a way to incorporate what you scanned in the 'entropic room' into practical application." 

Tony eyed his gauntlets suspiciously, then turned back to Richards. "Safe application?"

"Theoretically. Naturally, should you feel any sort of side effect, I would be interested in knowing-"

"Get him out of here, Agent. Please."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In theory, it was a 2:1 game.

XXVI.

This was, on hindsight, possibly yet another, remarkably stupid idea, especially just coming off the tail of the other one.

He hadn't been able to contact the others - quite possibly, Lucifer was keeping them occupied in the Silver City somehow. Ramiel was with him, which could backfire spectacularly: Tony prided himself on being a fair judge of character, and Ramiel was either as blithely good-natured and honest as he seemed, or was possibly the universe's best actor and a double agent.

So he was getting paranoid. Near-death experiences did that to a person.

Or, Lucifer might even sweet-talk Ramiel back to his side, which was rather more likely. Doctor Richards had offered to provide back up, but Tony wasn't particularly sure what would happen if humans were brought into the Garden: it seemed that Michael had only taken the other archangels with him to the Silver City.

Besides, he didn't need Richards. 

Fucking Richards.

If his gauntlets blew up, or if he went back to Earth with three legs or some other amusing mutation, he was going to fucking sue his ass.

He had gotten Ramiel to take them some distance off from the Tree, so they could at least sort of scout the area - or, at the least, not land in the middle of a bunch of demons - and as far as he could tell, Eden was just as boring as ever. Birds, check. Bees. Check. Lots of trees. Everything still standing. No fire or brimstone-

"He is here," Ramiel murmured, so softly that Tony almost didn't catch it. 

"What? How did you know?" Tony hissed in return.

"I always know when he is close by," Ramiel shrugged, looking slightly confused that Tony had even asked. "We are attuned. Just as you and Michael are attuned."

Tony opened his mouth to refute that particular idea posthaste, then closed it, recalling that awkward scene in the firing range, more besides, and he shivered, clenching his teeth. Still, this wasn't particularly the time or place to have any sort of irrelevant freak-out, so he swallowed that back down. "All right. Location?"

"Thirty feet to the northeast." Ramiel gestured. They were in a copse of trees, thick enough that they had to tuck away their wings, and Tony was belatedly glad that Coulson had forced him to put on a SHIELD-issue uniform, complete with kevlar vest and dark boots. The boots pinched a little, and the Black Ops look was _so_ Cold War chic, but at least the uniform would hide him better in the trees than a nice cut of Tom Ford.

"By the way," Tony added thoughtfully, "If you know when he is close by, wouldn't he know when _you_ are close by?" 

"Oh." Ramiel blinked, then he looked slightly abashed for a moment before perking up. "So I should just show myself and engage him in battle?"

Trust the puppy to equate 'stealth' with 'boredom'. Still. "I guess. I'll... um," What was it that Clint said? "Cover you. Yeah. I'll cover you."

Ramiel gave him an _old_ look that Tony was pretty sure that he didn't deserve, but nodded and patted him on the shoulder. "Peace, Gabriel. And good hunting." He hesitated, for a long moment, glancing away, then back. "If possible, I would not want Lucifer to die."

"The plan is to contain him, buddy. Remember?"

"Yes. Of course." Ramiel nodded and vanished. 

And then there was one.

Still ill-advised.

Tony crept on, trying to ignore the residual aches ebbing through his body and wishing that he'd had somewhat more aspirin than Agent "Nanny" Coulson had allowed him to swallow down. Stealth wasn't exactly his thing, either, but he supposed that an old dog could learn new tricks, and all that. 

At the edge of the forest, he found himself looking down a gentle slope, at the centre of which was possibly one of the biggest goddamned trees that Tony had ever seen, with a pale, almost bluish bark and a thick trunk, wide, spreading branches that pushed a crown of leaves into the sky that were in every possible shade of green wrought by nature. It was _beautiful_ , impossibly so, _perfect_.

Tony wasn't usually given to the appreciate of beauty that wasn't mechanical in nature or hourglass in figure, but this-

Drinking it in, it was only a sudden rumble of thunder in the unnaturally blue sky that brought Tony back to himself, and he looked around quickly, finally spotting Lucifer facing off with Ramiel just behind the large trunk. 

Judging from the gestures, Ramiel was trying to reason with Lucifer, and after some hesitation, Tony settled down to watch. Maybe the kid might even be able to talk Lucifer out of the apocalypse. Long shots didn't hurt, even if he couldn't really make out what they were saying, but there wasn't any fire and brimstone yet, which counted as a plus in Ramiel's diplomatic favour. Eventually, however, even as his feet started to ache, Ramiel lowered his hammer, straightening up, and walked up into Lucifer's arms, tangling the fingers of his free hand into long dark hair and pulling him into a kiss.

Tony relaxed against a tree trunk, letting out the breath that he hadn't realized that he had been holding. Well. That was that, then- 

-and Lucifer's hands rubbed up Ramiel's back, then one dropped to the side, flexing fingers that closed over a staff with a sharp blue crystal at the tip. As Tony hastily pushed himself upright, Lucifer made a swift, deft twist of his wrist, sinking the staff up and deep between Ramiel's shoulder blades.

As Tony watched, horrified, Ramiel froze, with a jerk, then he slumped down in Lucifer's arms. Lucifer drew out the bladed staff, and lowered Ramiel gently onto the grass, folding his arms over his chest. Then he got to his feet, his wings flared wide, and when he spoke, his voice carried.

"Gabriel."

Tony made the shot first rather than bothering to talk - Clint would have been proud - but Lucifer merely flickered, reappearing a few feet away, his hands held loosely to his sides, beckoning, and now, Tony was _pissed off_. 

Fuck trying to contain Lucifer. Tony was going to kick his _ass_. 

Lucifer dodged the next shot, and as Tony willed himself closer, for another bolt, he turned it aside with a wave of his staff. "Calm yourself, Gabriel," Lucifer said flatly. "He is not yet dead."

Tony hesitated, glancing over at Ramiel's body instinctively to check, only for a sudden force to slam into his chest, knocking him flailing to plough a furrow into the ground. As he struggled to get up, another bolt caught him, and he gagged as he could smell his skin burn - whatever it was had bored through kevlar and - Lucifer was dragging him up and shoving him forward, frogmarching a dazed Tony until he found himself facing the tree, the bark filling his vision. 

The hand curled against his neck, tightening pointedly. "If it would have been any comfort," Lucifer noted quietly, "I did not intend to kill you before. I was monitoring your status carefully. I need you, after all. None of the others are like you - you saw through my ruse at the Silver City, just as I thought that you would. We _are_ old friends for a reason."

"Funny," Tony grit out, trying not to breathe in too deep, and as he raised his palms a fraction, Lucifer's grip tightened again until he dropped his palms. "Could'a fooled me. You know," he added, hoarsely, "I would have helped you. You didn't have to fucking stab me in the back."

"You wouldn't have helped me. Not for long. You and Michael... in the end, you will always side with him. Even if you hate him. There's a bond between the both of you, after all, and it is an old one. Now, Gabriel," Lucifer added, with a terrible gentleness, even as Tony stiffened, feeling the tip of the blade slip through the back of his kevlar vest as though it was nothing and press into his skin, bleeding him, "Tell me. Do you wish to die?"

"Do we ever?"

"Then speak a Word, old friend. One of the Words of Fire. Burn it all down." Lucifer purred, his voice in a slow, velvet cadence. "Let us rewrite the script."

"I won't," Tony hissed as he felt the blade push a fraction of an inch further into his back, _God_ , "If you want to kill me, do it."

"I just want to remove our functions, Gabriel," Lucifer replied calmly, "What's wrong with that? You've agreed that it is necessary. Burn down the tree. We'll take Ramiel to safety. And then, we'll part ways. One Word, Gabriel. End the war."

"Go fuck yourself," Tony snapped, and he cried out as he felt the blade slip in further, struggling to remember exactly what it had to be cutting through, angling towards his heart, and it _hurt_ -

"This can end, Gabriel. All of it. No more cycles. No more death." Lucifer's tone slowed even further, inviting. "Wouldn't you like that? You've always loved humanity."

-And that did sound pretty good, actually, even as his back felt wet and warm, and he was growing dizzy - _blood loss_ , his mind whispered, all the way at the back - but even as he breathed out, with a cough, he heard, somewhere behind him, Steven, shouting something, his voice raw with grief. Gritting his teeth, Tony groped behind him, grabbing the heft of the staff blindly and shoving it further and up, and he could feel Lucifer stiffen with shock even as he fell, hitting the grass with an impact that he couldn't feel, and God, the tree was so beautiful, even from here, and he could feel his throat moving, despite himself, saying _something_ -

-into the growing dark-

-and he was whole.

Gabriel stood in the void between, the dark of the worlds curled between life, and unfurled his wine dark wings, inspecting his gauntleted fingers with amusement, rolling his shoulders, and waited patiently, turning up his face. 

Time didn't pass here, not the way Gabriel or his vessels ever understood it, and he didn't know how much of it passed until the echo spoke.

"Gabriel."

"Father," Gabriel smiled, and there was something irreverent in his grin where there would only have been contempt from Lucifer or adoration from the others.

"You did well."

"I usually do," Gabriel drawled, and there was a low, rumbling sound, like laughter around him, that made his wings draw up in pleasure. "Am I to sleep again?"

"Not yet." There was a pause, heavy with thought from an echo down the centuries, beyond time, and when the whisper was voiced again, it was softer. "You spoke the last Word that I taught you within the Garden of Eden."

"I felt that it was time."

"Was it?"

"Lucifer now knew most of the picture, but not all of it. He knew you had gifted more to me than fire. He knew about Eden and the Tree. I think that the world has matured enough to hold its own. London's casualties were minimised, and the city finally purged of demons because of humankind. Besides," Gabriel added wryly, "This world's dying all on its own, Father. I think it would not suffer to wear another cycle." 

"Humanity," the voice mused, neutral, "Without the cycle, when you die, Michael will never be able to find you again when you are reborn. If you even will be."

"We'll take our chances, Father. Let this pass. The world has matured. It has no further need of figureheads and worship. Governments are increasingly secular. Humanity has long been able to decide its own path. They have no further need of us."

"I look towards humanity and still see hate. Destruction. Death."

"They are more than the sum of the evil wrought by a few," Gabriel argued earnestly. "Technology has given them vision. The means to make even the smallest of voices heard. They have self-awareness now beyond what your Design originally intended. And I have faith."

There was another, longer pause, then, "Are you certain?"

"I am."

"Then return. Watch what you have wrought. And this," the voice added, with a touch of satisfaction, regret, "This will be the last that we speak."

"I know. Goodbye, Father." 

"Be free."

XXVII.

Tony really had to watch his déjà vu. Or maybe Fury had to start installing revolving doors in the SHIELD infirmary just for him.

"All right," he groaned, as he finally clawed his way up into consciousness, staring blearily at the ceiling, "This is getting fucking ridiculous."

"Congratulations," Coulson peered into his line of sight. "You survived."

"Would it kill you to sound happier about it?"

Coulson's mouth twitched up into a robotic smile. "Congratulations. You survived."

"Okay. I think you've actually managed to make me feel depressed about being alive." Tony muttered, as he sat up, looking around. Healed, at least. "Did Ramiel make it?"

"He did. I gather that Michael arrived just in time. The others are waiting for you in the war room," Coulson added mildly. As Tony slipped off the bed, the Agent added, just as blandly, "I suggest putting on some pants before attending the meeting."

Fucking hospital gowns. 

After borrowing yet another set of SHIELD gear, Tony took himself to the war room, where his grand entrance was a little spoiled by nearly landing on top of Bruce. To Bruce's credit, he only blinked. "Oh. Tony. You're awake."

"I seem to have been suffering a hell of a lot of near death experiences recently," Tony said dryly, "Can I quit... ooph-" Steven had circled over and crushed him into a tight hug, burying his mouth against his neck. "Hey. I'm happy to see you too, big guy. And Clint, I can see you rolling your eyes from way over here."

"Noted," Clint said dryly. "Get a room, Stark."

"So," Tony added, with a glance around the room, "What did I miss?"

Fury scowled at him. "You should have called for help when you saw Lucifer in Eden. Rather than leading a half-assed charge by yourself."

"And Ramiel."

Ramiel smiled wanly at him from the council table, but he didn't say anything, glancing away again. Tony bit down on a sigh. Getting stabbed in the back had to be worse when it was from someone you loved.

"What I still want to know is," Bruce said mildly, "Tony, from where I was standing when I appeared, it sure looked like you were trying to kill yourself."

"Ezekiel," Steven growled, his arm around Tony's waist tightening. 

"He wanted me to burn the tree," Rather to Tony's own surprise, he didn't instinctively pull back. "I didn't, but it was close, so I decided to stop fucking around and just end it."

"You said _something_ ," Natasha noted quietly. "I heard you." 

"But nothing happened," Clint chipped in. "I thought at least some serious shit would have caught fire. Didn't finish saying what you had to?"

"He did," Steven stared at Tony, who looked back at him blankly. "You spoke one of the Words, Tony."

"Did I? Well, fuck. I didn't mean to," Tony said defensively, "That was kinda the _point_ of stabbing myself. But Clint said nothing caught fire, right?"

"That's right. A whole lot of nothing happened," Clint seemed visibly disappointed. "And then Lucifer fucked off, so we didn't even get around to fighting anything." 

"There were a lot of demons in the Silver City," Bruce noted. 

"Yeah, but that's just _demons_. I wanted to fight the big Bad." Clint grumbled, then he eyed Ramiel belatedly. "Sorry."

"On the other hand," Fury eyeballed Clint pointedly until the agent straightened up and smoothed his face into blankness, "It appears that the demons have all withdrawn for now, and, according to Michael, all the signs seem to have stopped occurring or have even ceded. So it seems - for now - that the cycle's stopped. Even though Lucifer is still at large."

"So... we won?" Tony brightened. "I saved the day?"

Fury scowled. "As much as it pains me to even consider the possibility-"

"I'm awesome," Tony concluded brightly, and Bruce shook his head wryly even as Ramiel managed a faint grin, but when he glanced up at Steven, there was only a searching glance. "What?"

"What Word did you speak at the Tree, Tony?" Steven persisted. "Try to remember. I have not heard it before. _Something_ happened. The cycle does not usually stop until Lucifer is contained."

"Does it matter? I mean, seeing as we've _won_?" Tony frowned at Steven. "The usual procedure is to celebrate and get resoundingly drunk, not to rain over everyone's parade."

"It does. I felt it change... _something_." Steven tilted his head. "This is all new-"

Tony leaned up for a kiss, then another, greedy, as Steven stiffened up before relaxing, opening his mouth, allowing Tony to lick into it and explore, and he could hear Fury clearing his throat and Clint snickering, Ramiel letting out a laugh, but he ignored them, pressing his palms over Steven's cheeks until he calmed. 

When he leaned back, Steven's eyes were a little glazed, and he blushed a little as he coughed. "So. Um. Usual procedure?"

"Finally. All of you. My place."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's a little something about everyone else.

Pepper

"But I don't want to be CEO," Pepper protested for the third time, as Tony brushed past her into his office, basking in all the gawking that he generated along the way. Pepper had to hide a grin, at that - Tony was rather inordinately fond of his giant, clumsy wings, and even the halo, but while the other angels seemed to wear their evidence of divinity with grace, on Tony it just still seemed... strange.

Maybe it was because of their long-standing association. Certain memories of things that Pepper had to do for Tony over the years as his PA, including turning out various members of society in equally varying modes of dress out of the Malibu House, had stuck indelibly.

"You're going to have to be. Up until they can make up their minds whether angels can hold property, etcetera," Tony slouched into his chair, wings arched everywhere. "Fucking Congress. Besides, you were awesome. You handled the company and everything by yourself while I was busy going from one near death experience to another. Do you think those religious nutballs would listen to me now? Maybe I should get them all to picket the White House or something. Or Obi's office. Or both." 

"I don't think so, Tony," Pepper said dryly, folding her arms over her clipboard. 

"Why not? I'm holy now, aren't I? Tell me I'm holy."

"In view of overwhelming circumstantial evidence, maybe."

"That's not nice." Tony sulked, even as the lowest set of wings curled over his waist, scooting over the arm rests. "I save the world and instead of coming back to a ticker tape parade, I'm faced with an ongoing lawsuit and the increasingly weird demands of a startup company. Did Dad have so many problems setting up Stark Industries? Because I'm going to choke me some shareholders."

"It's a stagnant economy," Pepper lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "Consumer confidence is low, and our product is highly specialised. If you want to expand, we're going to have to clinch a higher profit market or create one."

"Let's create one. But no cellphones or tacky little gadgets." Tony spun a slow circle in his chair, tapping absently at his chin. "I had an idea in Afghanistan. You know that giant arc reactor that doesn't work, back over in Stark Industries? Let's get it back."

Pepper exhaled. " _Legally speaking_..."

"Fine. Maybe I'll just make another one. Smaller. More energy efficient. Doesn't explode when compromised. Would that work? Clean energy. Portable. Benign. Sustainable. It'll tie in to our main product, too. We can use it to generate the power needed. They'll be more stable than the current fusion prototypes." 

"If you can pull it off, sure." Pepper arched an eyebrow, then she added, as mildly as possible, "And if you wanted the next Nobel prize for physics."

"The physics prize is _old_. I want the Peace prize," Tony, however, looked speculative. "And you're still going to be the CEO. I'll be the... the chief engineer. That way I can spend all my time in the labs, and you can handle the shareholders."

"All right, Tony," Pepper said mildly, with a sigh. She could see Tony's point, and besides, Obadiah Stane had been pushing the property matter in Congress and in the Courts for all that he was worth. The situation was getting dangerous, even with public opinion in their favour for now, "I accept."

"Great!"

"But that means that you're now in my office," Pepper added sweetly. "Sitting in my chair."

Tony paused in mid swivel. "Are you kicking me out?" There was definitely a whine there.

"You were going to work on a portable arc reactor, weren't you?"

Tony scowled, getting up, his wings puffing aggressively, and Pepper added, "And put those things away, you'll knock something over."

After a moment's pause, the wings disappeared, and Tony drawled, "Anything else?"

"Maybe we should discuss your salary later."

"A _salary_?"

"Only joking, Tony," Pepper covered her mouth as she grinned. "I'll see what I can do about the existing arc reactor. And... Tony?"

"What?"

"You did great," Pepper said gently. "With everything."

Tony blinked at her, as though startled for a moment, then he recovered quickly. "I'm always great," he shot back, before ambling away, possibly to terrorize R&R, and in the silence of her new office, Pepper righted the chair, shuffled the paperwork into place, and settled down onto the leather seat. She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes, enjoying the moment of quiet, then she reached for the keyboard, just as her phone rang.

"Pepper Potts."

"Hi Pep," Tony sounded distracted. "Just remembered I have a date tonight with Steve. Book us in for the French Laundry, would you? Nice table."

"Sure, Tony," Pepper said dryly. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, make an appointment with Tom, or anyone decent. I need a new suit. Thanks. Wait. Make that two appointments, Steve's jackets are getting way too old. Love you bye." 

Tony hung up, and Pepper shook her head as she brought up the French Laundry's number from memory. Some things weren't ever going to change.

Fury

Whatever Stark had done, Fury had to concede that it worked. The world returned to normal, SHIELD went back to devoting its time to preserving global security, and there was no more of that fucking godawful business with demons and rivers of fire. Lucifer seemed to have gone to ground, at least for now, and although Fury set a group of intel officers to keep track of that full time, his gut feeling was that they had a bit of breathing space.

SHIELD had also acquired, as a result of the entire situation, a group of high powered individuals - which was good, Fury had decided, after some thought. Michael had always been fairly friendly, even if it turned out that the archangel had kept some cards close to his chest after all; Clint and Natasha had always been good operatives, and were better now with more firepower; Ramiel was showing some promise, and Banner had always had a good reputation as a biologist. 

And then there was Stark, who dropped by now and then, seemingly just to annoy people/visit Banner/distract Michael, and the man was still a loose cannon, arrogant and far too sure of himself despite nearly dying far too many times over the last month or so, but Fury could see the _point_ of Stark's presence, even if he was glad that it was usually temporary. Of all of the archangels, Stark was the only one who had been utterly unchanged by the realisation of his powers. Fury supposed that there was something humbling there, even if the man was impossible to work with even at the best of times.

"SHIELD's interested in your defensive prototypes, Stark, not a fucking giant helicopter."

"I'm not selling the patents to the former. You're going to have to queue up like everyone else," Stark said blithely. "Get the heli _carrier_. You'll love it. It has camouflage arrays. Radio silence. It'll be a giant black ops fashion statement. I can even model the hull in the contours of your face if you'll like."

Fury snorted. "Do you realize what an absolute disaster it's going to be if you make anti-smart weapons equipment available to the private market? Every goddamned homegrown terrorist between here and fucking Mongolia would be able to get his hands on one!"

"And how many civilian casualties have been caused by smart tech?" Stark asked idly. "Drone strikes gone a little awry? Bombing? Smart mines and missiles? I want to change war as we know it, Fury."

"By making everyone head back to bows and goddamned arrows?"

"Clint might resent that remark," Stark noted breezily, then added, "Fewer people got killed by bows and arrows than bombs? No? Anyway, you're not going to dissuade me. But if it's going to be much comfort," he continued dryly, "I'm not going to sell them to terrorists, all right? I mean, I don't get why you think I _like_ them. I spent some quality time in the Hindu Kush with them, after all. _Lovely_ people."

"They could force villagers to purchase them as middlemen."

"We'll have interviews. Some sort of selection process. Pepper's handling the details. We were thinking that we could get NGOs or other corporations to sponsor villages."

"You can't save the world with gadgets, Stark," Fury growled. "And you're fucking deluded - or arrogant - if you think that you can. The only way to world peace is stable governments. Infrastructure. Food and clean water. Education."

"Funny how I don't see _you_ making any of that," Stark shot back, though he smirked. "So let me try things my way."

Ezekiel

Bruce was slightly surprised when Tony had invited them all to move out of the Triskelion and into the top few floors of _Resilient_ , but had gone along with it anyway, if only because Tony had already moved all his equipment and belongings _before_ asking him. The lab was spacious and far more advanced than SHIELD's, and although Bruce missed having assistants, robotic ones eventually sufficed with some configurations.

"What I don't get," Tony said one day, perched on a chair early in the morning in Bruce's lab and nursing a coffee, "Is what made you first Hulk out. For the rest of us, something big happened. I nearly got killed, demons appeared, things like that. What about you?"

"This again?" Bruce noted mildly, as he checked the new slide under the microscope. "JARVIS, record a twenty-five percent reduction with sulphuric acid."

"Noted, Doctor Banner."

"You said you were arguing with Ross. General Ross. Was that all?" 

"It doesn't matter, Tony."

"Did he say something that really ticked you off?" 

Bruce sighed, glancing up briefly. "I'm in control now of the other guy."

"The other guy is also you, Bruce," Tony said dryly. 

"I know. Objectively. But it's easier to think of it otherwise. When I'm... it," Bruce hesitated, before continuing, "I'm not always fully functional. I mean, I still manage objectives, most of the time, but there's always so much unstable energy. So much anger. It's exhausting to control, and it's corrosive, and I'm trying to cope. I think I would've preferred your 'face melting' powers."

"Okay," Tony noted soberly, clearly backing off on the point. "But just so that you're aware, Ross has been brought up on verbal and physical assault charges before. He just managed to sweep them off each time, that's all. And you're on SHIELD's payroll, full time, now. So there's nothing really in it for you to keep it all to yourself."

"Tony," Bruce said mildly, as he changed a slide, "Let it go. What good would doing anything else bring? I'm in a far better place now than I was then. Both in terms of employment, and mentally. Maybe spiritually, too, if you want to believe that. We're more than human in many ways. I think we should act that way."

Tony eyed him carefully, for a long moment, then he slouched further into the chair. "If you start heading off on remote Himalayan retreats to sit inside sacred mountain caves, I'm going to disown you as my science buddy." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Bruce noted distractedly. "Come over here. I need another sample. I want to compare it to mine."

"You only like me for my blood," Tony said, with mock sadness, though he pushed himself off his chair.

Raziel

Natasha rather liked living in _Resilient_. For one, there was an excellent on-call chef with 24-hours room service, the Tower was just off Fifth Avenue, and most importantly, it didn't have the lingering locker room smell that waged a changing war with disinfectant in the Triskelion barracks. She wasn't even particularly concerned at going from being one of the few women in the barracks to being the only woman in what was effectively a boys' club over at the _Resilient_ , particularly with on-suite bathrooms and housekeeping staff.

And besides, there was Pepper, who had originally been introduced as some sort of pseudo-secretary-CEO-assistant person, but who had quickly forged an alliance with Coulson and now jointly ran _Resilient_ 's day to day functionality with the same fierce efficiency that she ran Tony Stark's life. At first, Natasha had been slightly contemptuous of the entire arrangement, but she'd grown to respect it. It was clear that Pepper stuck with Stark out of sheer loyalty and a great deal of personal fondness, and now that Natasha was somewhat better acquainted with Stark, she knew that he didn't take his friends for granted.

At least, not any longer.

Today, Pepper was circling the _Resilient_ floors, on the warpath. "JARVIS, where is Tony again?"

"In residence, Miss Potts."

"No he's not!" Pepper took in a deep breath. "He's going to be late for his meeting!"

"I am only authorized to inform you that Mister Stark is in residence, Miss Potts."

Pepper swore rather creatively under her breath, and finally ended with a scowled, " _Men_ ," that made Natasha's lip curl and Clint hastily duck out of sight from the stairwell. 

"Vodka?" Natasha offered mildly, from the couch where she was curled with a book.

Pepper sighed. "Tempting. But maybe later. Thanks, Natasha."

"Important meeting?"

"Very."

"Wait here," Natasha decided, closing her book and setting it aside. Five minutes later, an annoyed and somewhat sandy Tony was standing in the living room, and though he put on an ingratiating smile when Pepper rounded on him, was eventually packed off to his meeting, and a slightly shamefaced Michael beat a quick retreat to the roof when Pepper arched an eyebrow at him. 

"Thanks," Pepper offered, when the figurative dust had settled, and Natasha nodded amiably, picking up her book again. 

"No problem."

"I have a block of time free now," Pepper added, with a warm, pretty smile, "And I'm not needed at the meeting. How about we take a walk down Fifth Avenue with Tony's credit card?"

"Good plan." Pepper was definitely one of the best parts about living at _Resilient_.

Uriel

Clint only let his wings stay unfurled when he was on the rooftop of _Resilient_ , sitting on the grass. This high up, the air was a little thin, but there was nothing quite like the view, or the wind, or sunning his feathers under the afternoon sun with no bird jokes in sight.

He didn't hear Phil settle down behind him on a deck chair, but then again, he didn't ever need to. "Something up?"

"Nice day," Phil replied, and Clint caught the can of cold beer tossed to him without having to glance over. There were some nice benefits to his new powers. Good for the field, too. "We've got a situation in Cambodia."

"I'm cleared for the field?" 

"If you want to be," Phil said neutrally, and now, Clint frowned, turning around for a look in the middle of opening the can. "Fury said that it was up to you."

"What did he mean, it was up to me?" Clint asked, bewildered, setting the can aside. "I'm fired? What about Natasha?"

"No, no. It's just..." Phil gestured at Clint's wings. "You're more than human now, Clint. Fury's aware of that." 

Phil was expressionless, but there was a line of tension in his shoulders that gave him away, and things finally fell into place. Clint had thought that it had just been having to handle all the newcomers _and_ the apocalypse at the same time that had made Phil distant, but _this_? He would have laughed, if he wasn't sure that Phil would take offence. 

Edging up onto the deck chair, flaring his wings for balance, Clint stated, "I'm still me, Phil. Natasha's still Natasha, and hell, Tony's definitely still a hundred per cent Tony. This hasn't changed us."

"The Director believes that it has."

"That's his opinion. I don't feel different." Clint hesitated, then he asked, "Do you?"

"Wings," Phil murmured, as a non-sequitur, his eyes growing dark as he looked Clint over, " _And_ a halo."

"This isn't going to be another bird joke, is it?" Clint asked warily, then he froze when Phil rolled his eyes and leaned up to kiss him, gentle at first, then more roughly when Clint purred and climbed all the way up onto the deck chair.

Ramiel

As it turned out, his parents were more freaked out over meeting Tony Stark than the fact that Ramiel was awake, alive and the vessel of an archangel, at least initially, and Ramiel supposed wryly that he should thank his Creator for small mercies. He definitely wasn't the gangly boy that they had brought up; Donald Blake and his medical aspirations were a distant memory.

He sat at a coffee shop in Oslo with Ezekiel and Gabriel, days afterwards, when they'd come back to check on him, overlooking the Akerselva, and Gabriel had opened with a grinning, "Have they calmed down yet?"

"They might want your autograph," Ramiel noted dryly. He had never quite understood the point of celebrity, but Gabriel preened visibly, even as Ezekiel rolled his eyes. "I will return with you to _Resilient_."

"Are you sure? You can stay here for a bit more," Ezekiel was always gentle outside of his other form. Lucifer had once mentioned a balance of energy, in explanation.

Thinking of Lucifer made Ramiel grim, but he tried not to let it show. "I am sure. My parents are fine. And the Director said that I could help Raziel or Uriel on their missions."

"Yeah?" Gabriel scowled, always the protective one, even if he often tried to hide it with bluster or wit, "Doing what?"

"Peacekeeping. There would be battle, perhaps. Uriel seemed amused." 

"Clint will keep an eye on him," Ezekiel assured Gabriel, who grumbled to himself but settled down, nursing a long black. "But really. I think you should take a bit more time off, Ramiel."

"I have had enough of that," Ramiel disagreed. Out of the battlefield, his thoughts tended to wind in and within themselves, chasing their own tails when he was bored, and he often found himself thinking, uselessly, of things that could have been. "Besides, Raziel has offered to spar."

"Just remember to do that on the Triskelion and not in my Tower," Gabriel noted instantly, then he added, turning to Ezekiel, "Fifty bucks on Natasha."

"I don't gamble," Ezekiel said, with a glance at Ramiel. 

"Take the bet, Ezekiel." Ramiel assured him, his darkening mood fading quickly. "Let us locate Raziel."

" _Now_?"

Lucifer

Worldwalking proved entertaining for a time, and then the novelty slowed. Many civilisations were just as venal as humanity, and Lucifer ghosted past those, with only a passing curiosity satisfied here and then about architecture, geology, or a particularly curious ecosystem. He had thought perhaps that Creation itself would be the greater puzzle, or that there would be others like them on other worlds, locked in their own eternal cycles, but there seemed to be no particular pattern, nothing distinctive but chaos.

It was disappointing, as though every world was but a new experiment, perhaps by different Creators, always and always forging something novel simply for the sake of it, with no view of a Grand Design or an ultimate formula. Perhaps within the chaos of new life, there was only chaos. 

And without a driving goal to underpin his existence, Lucifer found himself growing... bored. He examined the sensation at first, delighted - boredom, after all, was a luxury previously afforded only by humanity, the functionless final creations of his Father, and then it had threatened to consume him, and as such, he let himself wander without aim, touching some worlds out of curiosity and leaving others alone, until finally, rather surprised, Lucifer found himself back on an all-too-familiar one. 

Perhaps there was a Grand Design at play, after all. Or perhaps it was simply ugly coincidence. Lucifer pursed his lips, thoughtfully, as he looked around. This was one of the shelters that he had forged for himself, centuries ago, now long fallen into disuse, hidden eastwards of the human city of Istanbul and underground. He ran fingers idly over dusty furniture, still exquisite even in their decay, and was about to check on another room when Ramiel abruptly appeared before him.

Lucifer winced as an outstretched wing smashed a chair into splinters, and Ramiel flinched, then looked slightly shamefaced. "Sorry," he offered, and his voice was deeper now, older, with a touch of silver in his hair and some wisdom in his eyes. 

Lucifer inclined his head, ready to defend himself if necessary. "Ramiel."

"Where have you _been_?" Ramiel demanded, and age, it seemed, hadn't bred out his impulsiveness, nor made it any less amusing. "I tried searching for you."

"As I told Gabriel. I went to look at other worlds."

"And you couldn't have checked back here now and then?"

Curious. Lucifer arched an eyebrow. "I nearly killed you, the last we met."

"If you wanted to kill me, you would have," Ramiel shot back. "I would have least liked to _talk_ to you before you went."

"Talk? You?" Lucifer noted, definitely amused now despite himself. "You have grown, Ramiel." 

Or perhaps he hadn't - Ramiel frowned and reached over to drag Lucifer into a hug that made him stiffen, then a kiss that made him stifle a sigh, even as he stroked his hands up the broad arch of Ramiel's back, to tap his fingers over the point where the bladed staff had pushed through, to within an inch of Ramiel's heart. 

Instead of taking the broad hint, however, Ramiel merely growled, wrapping his broad wings around Lucifer's slighter form, and when they parted, Lucifer tilted his head at him, a little confused. "Surely you can't have chosen to forgotten."

"I haven't. I can, however, choose to _forgive_ ," Ramiel corrected, and added, rather erroneously, "You idiot."

"I beg to differ," Lucifer said, a little affronted, only for Ramiel to laugh and dip his head again, and this time, Lucifer pressed his hands upwards, over to the curve of Ramiel's shoulders.

Michael

Years ago, Gabriel would probably have roundly objected to the reintroduction of Lucifer to their lives, but age had made him mellow, even as slowed as it was with their natural regeneration. The world had grown peaceful, save with a few hiccups now and then, and the cycle seemed to be over. Still, the situation with Lucifer remained uneasy, and after a day or so, Ramiel and Lucifer had left _Resilient_ , with no particular explanation.

"Probably worldwalking," Gabriel shrugged, where he might have been suspicious before, curled on the couch with a projection of lighted panels before him, absorbed in analysing a new alloy. "Lucky kids."

"Lucifer is hardly a kid," Michael corrected, as he sat beside him, a sketchbook at hand, indulging an old hobby now that he was off-cycle. "Nor is Ramiel."

"I was being figurative."

Michael glanced at Gabriel, curious at the slight edge to his voice. "Do you wish to go? Look at other worlds?"

"Do I look like I have the time?" Gabriel asked absently. " _Resilient_ 's just about to setup Somalia with a reactor grid. It's been a fucking shitstorm since Day One. If Pep and I don't at least score another Peace prize out of this, I'm going to sabotage salient bits of Norway."

"You've been working on this all day and night for weeks." Michael set his sketchbook aside, and put a hand on Gabriel's hip, pointedly. "Take a break. Please?"

Gabriel eyed his hand, then the panels, then he sighed, as Michael leaned over to brush a kiss over the edges of his mouth. Gabriel's hair had gone silver now, a mark of time, and as Michael kissed down over to an ear, brushing the hairline, Gabriel pulled away. "I'm getting a little too old to do it on the couch," he noted dryly.

"Nonsense."

"Coulson and Clint are in."

"They've seen worse." Michael carefully tugged Gabriel onto his lap, mouthing up the tantalising slip of skin available under his pressed collar to his jaw, and Gabriel groaned, tangling fingers through his short-cut hair. 

"God. Don't remind me," he muttered, though he tugged on Michael's shirt until he pulled it off, then his fingers dipped down to his belt, and that was when it got complicated, working to kiss and get at Gabriel's clothes at the same time, shucking shirts, belts and jeans and boxers until they were skin to skin, panting, drunk with lust, their hands sketching over each others' bodies with the easy familiarity of time. 

Gabriel's wings unfurled first, gorgeous and wide, feathertips brushing the walls, then he laughed as Michael pushed his hands greedily into covert feathers, tugging, curling his arms over his shoulders. "Your turn, smartass, c'mon," he growled, and when Michael obliged, he stroked his fingers down to wing muscle to press his thumbs against the roots of Michael's biggest wings, making him jerk back against the couch with a moan. 

Grinning, Gabriel's clever fingers kneaded dips of muscle and rubbed at tense knots until Michael was shivering and dazed, his own hands pressed helplessly over Gabriel's hips, watching hungrily as Gabriel leaned over to fish in the pockets of his jeans, coming up with a packet of lube that he tore open quickly. He was still loose from the morning, taking two fingers easily enough, and Michael husked his next breath against Gabriel's skin, drawing a nipple into his mouth to rasp his teeth against and make him twist for it, shifting his hands up to the arches of Gabriel's third set of wings to hold on as Gabriel shivered and grasped Michael's arousal, always impatient. 

The glide until Gabriel was seated was glorious and tight, a velvet slide until he was lost, losing himself, muting his whines and moans against Gabriel's neck as Gabriel clawed fingers against the dips of muscle against his back and _growled_. When he moved, it was savage, this time, all sharp jerks of his hips that ground Michael back mercilessly against the couch until he was keening, flaring his wine-dark wings to balance himself, laughing when Michael finally rolled them around, shoving Gabriel against the couch to drag up his hips and pound into him, cocooned in a whorl of heaving wings as Gabriel arched against him and screamed.

It was Gabriel who moved them up to their bed, later, grumbling about a cramp, though he allowed Michael to tuck him close, even spent and sweating. 

"They'll be all right," Gabriel said finally, "I think. Going off like that."

Michael nodded. He wasn't still entirely sure of Lucifer's motives, but Ramiel had seemed happy.

"I don't think I could do that," Gabriel added, even more slowly. "Run off into the sunset like that. Or fly, if you want to be specific."

"No," Michael agreed. It wasn't Gabriel's way.

Gabriel, however, looked at him oddly. "Did you want that? A happy ever after on Mars, or wherever the hell they've gone, just the two of us?"

"I have my happy ever after," Michael shrugged, leaning over, and Gabriel snorted, flicking at his forehead.

"Sap." Gabriel, however, didn't smile. "You and Lucifer... the rest of us will move on. Won't even be that long by your books."

"I know." He had long accepted that. 

"I think we'll be back," Gabriel said, after a moment's thought, his hand curling over Michael's thigh. "Even without the cycles. I _know_ that we will. You'll look for me again, won't you?" 

Michael pressed a lopsided kiss over Gabriel's mouth, arching as wings curled over his flank. "Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting and pushing me to complete this fic! It ran on way longer than I thought that it would, and I probably would have let it die if it wasn't for all of you. 
> 
> I toyed with writing a future!Gabriel fic at the end, but it didn't fit well. Hope you guys enjoyed the ride as much as I did, and thanks again for reading.


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